This Night is Flawless
by brickroad16
Summary: A pair of friends, two pairs of siblings, a burned-out spy, and a tagalong boyfriend take vacations to the mysterious country of Costa Gravas, where they find friendship, love, danger, and enchantment. AU. Chuck/Merlin crossover.
1. Prologue

**Title**: _This Night is Flawless_

**Author**: brickroad16/inafadinglight

**Rating**: PG

**Fandoms**: Chuck and Merlin

**Characters**: Chuck, Sarah, Ellie, Devon, Merlin, Morgana, Gwen, Arthur

**Pairings**: Chuck/Sarah, Merlin/Morgana, slight Arthur/Gwen, slight Ellie/Devon

**Summary**: A pair of friends, two pairs of siblings, a burned-out spy, and a tagalong boyfriend take vacations to the mysterious country of Costa Gravas, where they find friendship, love, danger, and enchantment. AU. _Chuck_/_Merlin_ crossover.

**Disclaimer**: Neither _Chuck_ nor _Merlin_ belong to me. I just like playing in the sandbox, and I'm grateful to BBC/Shine and Josh Schwartz/Chris Fedak/NBC for such cool characters. Title from Taylor Swift's "Enchanted."

**A/N**: You really don't want to know my thought process on this or where it came from. But it's here. I've apparently decided to write it. Feel free to let me know if it's crap. As always, though, it's super helpful if you review when you favorite, or if you review at all. :)

* * *

If one were to ask Merlin Ambrose, he'd have to say all his trouble started when he was a mere seven years old, so unassuming and easily led astray. A new family moved into the house across the street, which had been empty for the summer, a family with a girl his age by the name of Gwen. She had dark, curly hair and a funny grin that showed her crooked teeth. She made him laugh, and she liked him, and she made up the best games. But little did he realize, at seven years old, that she would be the death of him. It's been nearly two decades since that fateful day, and still she can get him to go along with her schemes.

"No," he says with an emphatic shake of his head. He would probably stomp his foot, too, if he weren't so certain she would laugh at him.

"Oh, come on," pleads his best friend. Her eyes light up as she smiles and latches on to his hand, and he can feel he's in terrible danger of conceding. "It'll be fun!"

Pursing his lips, he turns his attention back to his marked-up copy of Chaucer and the notebook covered in his scrawl beside it. "Right."

Because a vacation to a tiny, almost unknown country in the middle of writing his dissertation is _exactly_ what he needs. He can imagine it now – drunk coeds on spring break, salty ocean water stinging his eyes, jellyfish dogging his swimming path, loud and annoying parties on the beach playing awful music that doesn't deserve to be danced to, let alone exist.

Besides, he hates sand.

"Why don't you take Elena, or Freya, or someone who'll actually be fun?"

She gives him a poke in the arm. "Because I won a tropical vacation!" she says with a laugh, still delighted at the news. The hotel where she's employed as a maid, Camelot, frequently has drawings for its personnel, and after the company's recent grand opening of a sister resort in Costa Gravas, Gwen had won a drawing for an all-expenses paid trip.

For two.

It's not like she hasn't got other friends.

"How can you not be excited about that?" she continues. "And I want to take my very best friend in all the world."

He shouldn't have looked up. He really shouldn't have. Twenty years and he still doesn't know he's got no defense against her pout.

* * *

Chuck Bartowski walks into the kitchen, sees his sister and her boyfriend, Devon Woodcomb, chatting together conspiratorially, and pauses. His sister's smiling. A frown springs to his lips, and he fights back a sigh. His first instinct, always, is to run from that smile, so cunning, so evil. But he really wants the leftover pizza and the grape soda he knows are in the fridge.

He bounces on his toes while he decides. Ellie and Devon's whispered conversation breaks off abruptly.

"Oh, hey, Chuck," Ellie greets, too happily. She's up to something.

_Damn_, he chastises himself. Should've turned around when he had the chance.

"Hey, bro," booms Devon. Chuck would be glad he was being accepted by his undoubtedly future brother-in-law if only Devon didn't call everyone "bro."

Resigned to listening to them now, he heads for the fridge and takes out his snack. He loosens his silver Nerd Herd tie as he slides his plate onto the counter and takes a seat. "What's up, sis?" he finally asks, dreading the answer.

She saunters toward him, a sparkle in her brown eyes. "What's the one thing in the world you need most right now?"

"Uh . . . a shower?"

Captain Awesome sits down beside him and claps him on the back so hard he chokes.

"Good guess, bro, but no," Devon says, his teeth gleaming. "The answer is: some time off. You're working too hard. You need to find your focus. You gotta clear your head."

"So . . ."

Ellie plops into a chair on his other side. Chuck swallows a bite of pizza then sits up, his head turning to look at one and then the other.

"Is this some sort of intervention? Because I've told you before, Ellie, the Buy More's not permanent."

She clears her throat and stares him down, because they've had this argument before. Six months would've been 'not permanent.' Five years? That's pretty darn permanent.

Luckily for him, she chooses not to engage in their tired-out argument and instead asks, "Do you remember that premier whose life Devon saved a little while ago?"

"The one from that weird country? Yeah, I remember him."

"Turns out he's super generous," Awesome chimes in. "He wants us to come for a visit, even offered us a suite in this new resort that's been built there, The Camelot or something like that."

Ellie beams. "So we're going on vacation, and you're coming with us, whether you like it or not."

* * *

"Hey, Leon," greets Morgana Pendragon with a tip of her head and a ghost of a smile as she enters her brother's living room. By the way her brother's agent sighs, she can tell he must be having a harder day than usual, and that's saying something for the Pendragon family. "Arthur giving you a tough time?"

"I'm right here!" Arthur whines from the couch, where he's reclined against a huge, plush pillow and his injured leg is stretched out in front of him. "And I am not giving him a tough time. _Leon_," he spits, "is just being crabby."

Morgana shoots her brother a _behave_ look before silently apologizing to Leon.

"Painkillers talking, I'm sure," he grimaces.

When she looks back at Arthur, he's thrown his head back and closed his eyes. He doesn't stir when she takes a seat on the couch next to his braced leg, although she fights the urge to smack him for being such a jerk. Not that his behavior or her reaction are anything new.

"So, what's the situation?" she asks.

Leon, heaving another sigh, settles into an armchair across from the siblings. "He's out for the season, as we suspected. Unfortunately."

That wasn't good on any level. Arthur would go crazy with nothing to do. Their father would no longer have a reason to brag about his football star son, at least for a while, and, as yet, he hasn't found much reason to boast about his author daughter. Not to mention she'll undoubtedly be left to amuse and take care of her whiny baby brother.

She purses her lips. "Is there any good news?"

"Depends on what you mean by that," Leon shrugs. "Turns out the premier of a country called Costa Gravas is a big fan of the club. He's extended an offer for Arthur to come for a visit. There's a new British resort down there. He'll get the star treatment, personal tours, a suite, whatever he wants, really, and it'll be a little publicity for the country and the football club."

Maybe it would be good. After all, she hasn't had much luck – any, really – working on her new manuscript. Maybe the change of scenery will spark her creativity again, and if Arthur were on a very distracting tropical island, it would mean she wouldn't have to spend all day every day looking after him. She flicks her gaze to her brother, in all likelihood only pretending to sleep.

"What does Arthur say about this?"

"Seems interested."

"And what do you say?"

Leon chuckles. "He'll need to be kept out of trouble."

"Well," she says with a laugh that doesn't quite reach her eyes, "I'm single for a reason, I suppose, aren't I?"

* * *

As soon as Sarah Walker exits the hospital room, Carina's waiting for her. The normally fiery redhead wears a somber expression, her arms crossed against her chest as she leans against the opposite wall.

"How's Zondra?" she asks.

Sarah exhales and leans beside her old friend. "She's going to be okay."

"Well, congratulations, Walker," Carina says dryly, "your streak of getting your partners in mortal danger just keeps going up and up."

Sarah tightens her lips and bites back a nasty reply. Instead, she chuckles mirthlessly and says, "Well, hey, I'm in the market. Are you applying?"

"Please. We'd be unstoppable. The government doesn't want to risk unleashing that force on the world."

That draws a true laugh from her, straight from her heart. She's forgotten what it feels like to be happy, even if for just a moment.

Still smiling, Carina asks, "So, what now?"

"Graham's forcing leave on me. Then it'll be psych evals."

"You should be a pro at those by now."

"Shut up."

"But I think I may have something to help you with your leave, though."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?"

Carina saunters off without replying. It's only when she's halfway down the hall that she turns, looks over her shoulder, and says, "I booked you a vacation."


	2. Saturday

**A/N**: I'm changing the rating on this story to T for language right now. It'll probably stay at that rating.

I was going to try to come out with a chapter once a week, but since there's not a huge interest in this, I'll just play it by ear according to how much free time I get and how much I have to work on the story I'm co-authoring with BillatWork.

Reviews are amazing, especially if you favorite or put this story on alert. Because there must be a reason you like it enough to do either one of those! :)

* * *

Morgana sits with a blanket over her knees, staring out the window of the jet. Arthur likes to keep the jet cool, and she's had no desire to argue with him since his injury, especially since she knows how much he's hurting both physically, with his knee, and emotionally, without football, the one thing that makes sense to him in his life. He's not one to talk about his feelings, but she's known him long enough to realize that if she pushes him too hard right now, she'll only drive him away.

The engine of the jet whines, and her ears pop as they start to descend. They break through the pure white cloud layer, revealing what she can only describe as a tropical oasis. Glistening ocean meets sun-bleached sand in a perfect blend of light and heat and wonder. The beach is dotted with resorts and gives way to more developed land, but she can see jungle ahead, leading to the heart of the island. It's mysterious, and lovely, and it sends a shiver through her. She doesn't much like surprises, prefers planning her life so she will encounter as few of them as possible. But this place, it holds secrets. The only question is: what kind?

"Arthur," she says and turns her head to look at her brother, on the other side of the cabin. His eyes are closed and he has his iPod earphones in, once again oblivious to the world around him. "Oi!" she shouts, balling up a piece of notebook paper and launching it at him.

It hits him smack in the face.

"Wha-what?" he says groggily, stirring to consciousness.

"Wake up, Arthur. We're here. We're in Costa Gravas."

* * *

"Drop us right here," Carina instructs the helicopter pilot.

He nods, lowering the chopper until they're hovering about ten feet above the blindingly white sand. Sarah grabs one of her bags and tosses it out, where it lands with a soft _thunk_ on the shore, scattering the sand. She looks over to Carina, who's already taken her headset off. Off the redhead's nod, she takes her own headset off, hangs it up, and jumps out of the helicopter after her bag, executing a barrel roll landing. She stands, brushes the sand off her legs, and looks up to watch Carina's descent.

But her friend doesn't jump.

"Sorry, Walker!" Carina shouts over the whip of the blades as she tosses another suitcase down.

"What the hell, Carina?" yells Sarah, straining her voice to be heard.

"This is for your own good! Tough love and all that!"

"You are not leaving me here alone, Miller! Land this helicopter right now!"

"I'll see you in a month!"

With that, Carina signals to the pilot, and the helicopter begins to rise.

"Don't you dare leave, you lying little whore!"

But she's already too far away to hear, not that she would care much anyway. Carina's been called much worse, by people who love her much less. Sarah lets out a growl of frustration as she kicks at the nearer bag. And then she sinks down onto the sand, pulling her knees up to her chest, a fiery scowl on her face. She and Carina have had more than their fair share of fights, both with words and with blows, but they've been as close to sisters as spies can get, and Carina's never pulled a stunt like this before.

She's never sided with Graham before.

The list of things Sarah Walker is losing just seems to keep growing.

* * *

Not having inherited their father's easy acceptance of luxury, Morgana is more impressed with the suite than her brother. Everything's state-of-the-art – the light, temperature, television, and everything electronic controlled by one central remote or a larger wall panel – which doesn't clash as much with the period décor as she expected. The resort, simply called Camelot, is full of corridors that twist and turn. It's odd, but oddly interesting against the tropical background, and it sets her mind alight with ideas. It'd be the perfect type of setting for a book. They've been given double suites that feature coats of arms and knightly tapestries, though she's particularly fond of the suit of armor that stands in the small hallway separating their rooms. She thinks she'll call him Howie. But the best thing, unquestionably, is the view – the beach gleaming in the sunlight, dotted with palapas, stretching to meet the turquoise sea. It really could be paradise, and it's all here at the tip of her fingers, if only she'd stretch out her hand.

She wanders over to Arthur's room, expecting him to have situated himself in front of the couch with the telly remote and the room service menu. Instead, he's on his feet, supported on his crutches, and barely managing to make his way from the bedroom through the living area towards her. He's changed his clothes, from his traveling jeans and t-shirt into khaki shorts and a striped polo, and, judging from the droplets of water still in his blond hair, he's even showered.

"Wait, are you planning on going somewhere?" she asks curiously.

He nods. "Didn't you hear the concierge when she told us about the party?"

Right. The weekend gatherings in the hotel bar for all guests. Great music, a few drinks, good company were all promised.

"Of course. I just . . . didn't think you'd actually want to go. Especially on your leg."

"Well, I didn't come here to hide out in my room," he shrugs.

There's a taut pause, because that's exactly what she's been doing for the past five months and thirteen days. She used to be social and active and successful and popular. Now, she's just another hermit writer who favors solitude over the remote chance of being hurt again.

"Why don't you come with me?" he asks. "Come on. It'll be fun."

She bites her lip. She really does need to look after him. That's her one job here, and how can he maneuver through a bar on crutches? But she's come to despise the attention she gets in public, even when she goes out in her sloppiest clothes. The thought makes her hesitate just long enough for Arthur to catch it.

"Morgana," begins Arthur, his voice much softer than usual, "you can't hide out forever."

"Arthur."

"No, it's okay. Stay in for tonight. Write. I can take care of myself."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"Hey, I know I give Leon a hard time, but that's because he's a pompous idiot," he laughs. "I promise, Morg, I'll be fine."

"And you're sure?"

"Positive."

"Thanks, Arthur."

He clomps past her on his way to the door, then stops to say, "Tomorrow, though, I will drag you out to do something fun. You won't get away from me that easily."

She lets out a laugh and gives him a gentle push on the shoulder. "Get out of here. Go have fun."

* * *

"All right," Merlin says with a nod as his eyes rove over the outdoor bar. Guests are clustered in small groups all around, at the bar, around tables settled beneath huge umbrellas, all talking and laughing and drinking. Even with his tenners on, he can already feel the sand squishing beneath his feet, and the sensation sends a ripple of disgust through him. Why'd he let Gwen talk him into this again? "We've seen it. Now let's go."

"Oh, come on!" she pleads, already grabbing hold of his arm. "You're being ridiculous. Come on, let's get a drink. A beer will help you loosen up. And look, there's a band!"

Indeed, there's a platform on the other side of the bar with musicians in dark suits playing instruments like ukuleles and steel drums. But then he does a double take, because there's a lute in a stand towards the back of the stage. Maybe this place really does try to live up to its name.

He lets out a sigh as he follows his friend to the bar. Gwen's job is backbreaking and full of annoyances, and yet she rarely complains. Considering that and how little opportunity for fun she has, he could stand to be a little more compliant about this trip. As they traipse across the sand, Merlin notices, out of the corner of his eye, a man with messy blond hair and a brace on his leg following their progress, his mouth hanging open stupidly. Merlin shakes his head, turns away, and puts it out of his mind, but only after making a mental note to keep a close eye on Gwen this week, if only to keep her away from creeps like that.

"I'm sorry, all right?" he offers as they take side-by-side stools. "You know I've never been much of a beach guy." He lifts a hand for the bartender and orders two beers.

"Well, if you ask me, you could use a bit of sun."

He chuckles. "Fair enough. So, do you like it so far? Better or worse?"

"Oh, it's lovely!" Gwen says with her characteristic enthusiasm, taking a sip of beer. "It's not much different, I guess. The layout and decorations and everything. But it _feels_ different. Does that make any sense?"

"Sure," he nods.

"Like this place is full of, I dunno, _magic_."

"Gwen . . ." he begins with a smile.

"I know, I know," she says hastily, waving away his next words. "There's no such thing as magic."

"Okay, okay, okay," he says with a shake of his head. "So, I assume you have activities planned for us this week?"

Gwen shrugs. "Not really."

"No?" Merlin says, pulling back in surprise.

"I don't know. I just thought we needed to slow down. I barely have a day off, and you never pull your head out of those books of yours. So our prescription for this week is sun and relaxation. How does that sound?"

He chinks his glass against hers. "Sounds perfect."

* * *

"Answer your damn phone, Carina," Sarah bites into her friend's voicemail, angrily tossing the phone onto her bed as a knock sounds at the door of her suite. She pulls her robe tighter about herself, realizing only now just how little it conceals.

She's scowling as she peers through the peephole and opens the door to a man in a dark suit and a pink tie.

"Miss Walker?" he says.

_It's Agent_ _Walker to you_, she nearly barks, but then remembers that's not true for at least 27 more days. Instead, she merely says, "Yes?"

The man smiles, revealing blindly white teeth against his charmingly tan complexion. "Premier Goya requests your presence at breakfast tomorrow morning promptly at 8 o'clock. What shall I give him as your reply?"

"Does it matter what my reply is?" she chuckles, but the joke falls flat with only the premier's lackey for an audience. "8 o'clock?"

"That's right."

"I hope he plans on serving pancakes, then."

"Then I shall send someone to pick you up precisely at 7:30."

* * *

Morgana sets down her mug of tea with a heavy sigh. She'd given up on trying to write hours ago, because apparently paradise is no more inspirational than her home in London was. She's forgotten how lonely a room can seem with just empty thoughts for company, and spending the last hour just lounging on the balcony and staring off as the sun drops beneath the ocean line and the sky slowly deepens to a twinkling purple hasn't helped matters.

She can't remember the last time she's had this much uninterrupted time, and what a pity she has no idea how to utilize it. No matter how big his posse gets, Arthur's forever bursting into her study with inane questions or pleas to hang out. All this time, she's been attributing her inability to write this book, her fifth and so far the only one she hasn't had a lick of inspiration for, on the interruptions her pesky baby brother makes in her life, but Arthur's been gone for hours now. Surely she should have been able to come up with at least a sentence. Her editor Morgause has been calling every week wanting an update on her progress, and every week she's had to disappoint her. After all the writing exercises and thought prompts she's been sending, she can only imagine what Morgause is going to say when she hears that not even a vacation to a gorgeous, relaxing beach is giving her that extra push she needs to organize her thoughts into something resembling a readable story.

She taps her pen against her notebook, half the page covered with scribbled-out sentences. She'll get no further tonight. With another sigh, she stands and heads back inside the suite, deciding to go discover where Arthur's been hiding for the past few hours. After all, he can't get very far with a bum leg and he's always been good at getting her mind off troublesome things like deadlines.

* * *

"Chuck," Ellie begins as they walk through the lighted archway leading to the resort bar, "Devon and I are gonna go check out the beach a little bit. Will you be okay by yourself for a little while?"

Chuck tilts his head and gives his sister an irked look. "El, I'm not a kid. I'll be fine."

Smiling, she holds her palms up. "Of course, right. Sorry!" Still, she puts a hand on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze before saying, "We'll be back in a few."

Devon claps him on the shoulder, too, and booms, "Hey, man, don't forget – bars are great opportunities to make friends. Just show 'em the old Chuckster smile."

"Wait," Chuck says, suddenly alarmed. "Is this a trick to get me to meet people?"

But they're already walking away from him. He can hardly blame them. An evening stroll along the shoreline is much more exciting than babysitting him. He wills the frown off his face as he stalks over to the bar, his Converses sliding over the slippery sand. He finds an empty stool between a woman fending off the attentions of wannabe suitor and a thin, pasty man with raggedy black hair and a plaid, button-down shirt.

"Could I get a grape soda, please?" he requests, sliding into the seat.

The bartender raises a questioning brow, but gets the drink and sets it before him. The dark-haired man beside him, though, chuckles.

"You have the right idea," he says in a thick English brogue, "but your execution's all wrong."

Chuck turns his head to make sure he's the one being spoken to. His neighbor has a grin on his face, one hand wrapped around a stein of amber beer.

Chuck clears his throat. "Excuse me?"

"Let me guess. Someone dragged you on vacation and you'd much rather be in the hotel room playing video games."

He lets out a disbelieving chuckle. "Uh . . . what gave me away?"

"Look at us. We could be brothers, mate," he says, indicating with one vague sweep of his hand their similar outfits – button-downs and jeans, sneakers, nothing at all remotely appropriate for enjoying beach weather. "Not to mention the tape on your fingers and the fact that no one orders grape soda at a bar unless they're being held there against their will."

"Ah," he mutters as he removes the tape he'd forgotten was there.

"I'm Merlin Ambrose, by the way," the man beside him says, sticking a hand out.

Chuck takes it. "Chuck Bartowski. It was my sister and her boyfriend who made me tag along, actually. You?"

"Best friend," says Merlin. After a slug of beer, he elaborates, "Who has given up on all my pathetic attempts at conversation and left me for . . . Oh, they've run off on me." He notices as he turns around to gesture to them that Gwen and her new blond admirer are not in the corner where he left them. He frowns in consternation. He's supposed to be keeping an eye on her after all, and he wasn't entirely sure that guy was trustworthy. "Erm, well, she was here."

"Ellie and Devon ditched me, too."

"Suppose we should be used to it by now, right?"

Chuck laughs. "Yeah, I guess we're not exactly life-of-the-party type of guys. In fact, my last birthday, my sister invited all her doctor friends. To be nice, you know? But I was too scared to go and meet any of them. And when I finally got up the courage to talk to a few, it was like speaking a different language."

"Oh, man," Merlin commiserates, shaking his head, "the worst is when they don't get your jokes, isn't it?"

"You can say that again. Is it really so unbelievable that there are females out there who could like us for who we are, pale skin and high scores and all?"

Merlin drops into a contemplative silence, then says quietly, "You know, I spend most of my time reading medieval literature. Do you know what medieval literature's about?"

"What?"

"Love. Courtly love, blind lust, it's all there. But the thing is, the more I read about it, the less I believe in it."

"Well," Chuck frowns, "I guess it's a good thing we'll always have friends to fall back on, then." Thinking of the bearded gnome he left back in Burbank, the friend he can always count on to cheer him up when he's down with all-night _Legend of Zelda_ gaming sessions, he lifts his glass of grape soda toward Merlin.

With a smile, Merlin toasts, beer against grape soda. "Here's to making new friends."

As their glasses chink together, Chuck's gaze is drawn toward the bar's archway entrance as a stunning brunette appears, and his mouth drops open. He's pretty sure he's drooling. He's always had a weakness for brunettes, and, minus the silver streak in her dark hair, this one calls to mind one of his favorite mutants from one of his favorite comic book series.

"Who is that?" he murmurs, almost to himself. "Anna Marie?"

"Anna Marie . . ." Merlin repeats absently. He turns to look and then immediately wishes he hadn't, because he finds himself mesmerized by raven-black hair, stunning emerald eyes, and it's like a drum being struck inside his head, like a fire being set to his heart.

The woman moves through the bar area like a ghost, disappearing nearly as swiftly and silently as she came, and Merlin suddenly feels as if the light has gone out of the room, out of the world, out of his life. What a trick for Fate to play on a man who doesn't believe in love, how cruel to make him understand the beauty and the agony in one fell swoop.


	3. Sunday

If Sarah had expected one thing when Carina had abandoned her on this island, it certainly wasn't that she'd be having breakfast with the premier on her very first morning. But after the heart operation that had saved Premier Goya's life a few months ago in L.A., the relationship between Costa Gravas and the U.S. has changed significantly. She's used to thinking on her feet, changing her course of action in the blink of an eye, but sometimes, infrequently, in quiet moments like over an ornate goblet of orange juice and a stack of mouthwatering pancakes, she gets the sense that the world moves too fast for her. Like it will pass her by if she's not careful.

"I am sorry that my wife could not be here to welcome you to our wonderful country," Goya says.

She smiles politely. "I understand both of you are very busy, what with running a country. I'm merely grateful you took the time to share breakfast with me."

"Well," he replies, "our countries are friends now, are we not? And one such as yourself is always welcome here."

Sarah's eyes narrow at his phrasing. From the look on his face, she decides it's safe enough to talk to him. He is the premier of a country, after all. And if not, then maybe she'd find a quick end to this. "Then you know who I am? What I do?"

He nods slowly. "It is as much an honor to fight for one's homeland as it is to lead it, I should think."

The way he says it makes her think of boys running off to be soldiers thinking only of idealism and principle, of knights charging into battle on only the word of their feudal lord. But there's nothing romantic about being a spy. She stays silent, having no reply for him.

He pops a grape into his mouth and says, "This new resort, it offers many recreation opportunities for a woman here on her own. And the concierge, she noticed that you did not attend the weekly party last night."

Sarah stifles an eye roll and admits, "I'm not much of a group activity person. Besides, a woman like me should keep a low profile."

"You will be safe here," he assures her, waving away her concerns. "But you are on leave. You need to keep active. You cannot sit in your room all day, I think? You will be bored by tomorrow, if you are not already."

"Surely that's why you invited me this morning."

Chuckling, he eyes her thoughtfully, but says nothing.

She asks, "Are you suggesting something, sir?"

He smiles. "I hope you like snorkeling, Sarah Walker."

* * *

"Hey!" Gwen greets brightly, sinking gracefully onto the chaise lounge beside him.

Merlin nearly jumps out of his skin. His heart pounding erratically, he takes a deep breath and settles back down onto his own seat, plunking his sunglasses back into place. Hopefully she didn't notice. Hopefully she doesn't guess that he was reading his book like he was pretending to because he was really scanning the crowd along the beach for the bewitching face from last night.

He clears his throat and, in as normal a voice as possible, says, "Oh, hey."

Grinning, his best friend leans over to smack his leg with the magazine in her hand. "I can't believe you're out here! You usually hide from the sun."

"Yeah, well . . ." he shrugs. "We're on vacation, aren't we?"

She eyes him suspiciously. "Okay . . . But you hate the sun. I thought it'd take a bit more convincing to get you out here." She pauses to settle back into her chair.

He holds his breath and stares at the open page, feeling her eyes burning holes into him. The book, _A Servant of Two Masters_, is one of his favorites, and he's read it more times than he can count, so many times he's practically got it memorized, which means he can turn a page every few minutes, not miss much, and still keep up his charade of perusing the crowd under the cover of his sunglasses.

But then Gwen asks, "So, how's your book? Doesn't look like you've gotten very far since this morning."

"It's, uh, just one of those books you have to savor, you know?"

"All right, whatever you say." A pause. Then, "Are you sure everything's all right?"

"Fine." He fiddles with the corner of a page. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just," she shrugs, "you've been acting rather strangely since last night, that's all."

He turns to flash her a smile. "I'm fine, Gwen. I promise."

She regards him studiously for a long moment, then declares, "Whatever you say, Merlin. Whatever you say."

* * *

"Listen up, everyone!" says the muscled, tanned snorkeling instructor from the front of the boat. "Everyone needs to pair off. No one will be going out on their own. There's an even number of you, so you shouldn't have a problem finding a partner."

From his seat on a bench placed neatly in the middle of the craft, Chuck takes a quick, nervous look around. As a lifelong nerd, he's not unused to situations like this – always picked last in gym class, always dreading group projects in which the choices were left up to the students themselves. Still, he'll never get used to the way his heartbeat quickens and his palms start to sweat. He wishes Ellie and Devon would stop insisting he come along as the third wheel for everything, or at least start letting him take Morgan to things. Then again, how lame is that? Taking your best friend because since grade school because you can't get a girlfriend? Pretty lame.

By the time he's finished mentally freaking out, everyone has paired up.

Everyone except a gorgeous blonde woman, sitting alone at the back of the boat, an aloof scowl on her face, clearly not interested in following the rules. She's wearing a red bikini top and a pair of short black shorts, her blonde hair tied up in a tight ponytail. Then she glances up, their gazes meet only briefly, sending an unfamiliar shockwave through him, and he swiftly swivels back around in his seat. He flexes his hands, takes deeps breaths, anything to try to banish the goose bumps and expel this new, strange, terrifying sensation of being underwater and muddy-headed and like someone has set a torch to his soul all at once.

"Hey, buddy," says Devon, clapping him on the back, "don't look at this as a challenge. Look at it as an opportunity – the perfect opportunity to make new friends."

"Right, right," he mutters, mustering a paltry smile. It's so simple for a guy whose nickname is 'Captain Awesome' to dole out advice like that.

Gently, Ellie suggests, "I think that girl in the back doesn't have a partner. Why don't you go and ask her?"

He shakes his head. "Yeah, she doesn't look much like she needs a partner."

"Come on, Chuckster," booms Devon. "Just try it?"

And they're looking at her so eagerly that he can't refuse. With a sigh, he smacks his legs and stands. "All right, fine. I'll give it a try."

He walks toward her, but her cold gaze is enough to prevent him from claiming the open space of bench beside her. He gulps. This isn't like him at all. He doesn't talk to women he doesn't know, especially _gorgeous_ women. Gorgeous women never want anything to do with him.

"Um, hey," he begins awkwardly, pausing to clear his throat. "I-I notice that you don't have a partner."

She lifts an eyebrow.

When it becomes clear that will be her only response, he ventures, "And, well, I don't have a partner either."

Sarah stares at this man in all his curly-haired, nerdy glory. He's wearing board shorts patterned with Darth Vaders, a long-sleeve swim shirt, and even a Dodgers ball cap, like the sun is his worst enemy in the world.

And she doesn't know why, maybe it's the way he smiles, nervous and unaffected and so unpretentious, but something stops her from turning him away immediately. She chalks it up to curiosity, but really, it's indefinable and something she hasn't experienced before.

Still, after having this whole snorkeling outing foisted on her and being escorted here by one of the premier's personal guards, she's in no humor to give consequence to a man who doesn't even have the confidence to speak without stammering. So she stares at him until he gets uncomfortable, which doesn't take very long at all.

"Um, right," he says timidly, "you can probably snorkel rings around the rest of us, though, can't you? Probably hold your breath for ten minutes at a time." He shrugs. "I'm really only here because my sister and her boyfriend dragged me along. They always drag me along on this stuff, but they're strangely okay with me being the third wheel. I guess they don't get how weird that is."

She's never met a guy who rambled this much. All the men in her line of work are cool, confident, sophisticated. They never miss a step. So predictable.

Then again, she's not working right now, is she? She can't expect everything she experiences on vacation to play out like it would on a mission.

She watches him walk back to his original seat with his head hanging and his shoulders slumped. He exchanges a few words with his sister and her boyfriend, who are both good-looking in a very typical way and, judging from their physiques, into fitness and adventure sports. She has no idea what his story is, she has no idea why she's so interested in it, but even when the boat has finally set sail and they're in the middle of the ocean and the time for partners has really come, she finds she still can't get him out of her head.

And she decides, just for this once, to do something she wouldn't normally do. Maybe she can give him a thrill. And, after all, what harm can one morning do?

* * *

Arthur finds her out on the balcony. They've only been here a day, and it's become her new hiding spot. For good reason, though – it's cool, naturally shaded by the building's architecture, and provides a pleasant thinking spot. And writing spot, if she could muster the muses.

"Hey," he smiles, plopping down into the chair on the other side of the small table and noisily setting his crutches on the floor. "What are you doing hiding out up here? Why aren't you on the beach getting some sun?"

She shrugs. "Didn't feel like it."

"Okay, whatever," he says. After staring out at the pristine view for a minute or two, he asks, "So, if you're not writing, and you're not working on your tan, what are you doing exactly?"

"It's called _thinking_, Arthur. Perhaps you should try it sometime."

"Ha-ha."

She pulls her feet up onto her chair, hugs her knees to her chest. In an effort to stave off any uncomfortable questions, she ventures, "Did you have fun last night? I went down but couldn't find you anywhere."

"Oh? I didn't realize you were there."

"Only for a little while."

"You should have told me. Texted or something."

"It's no big deal," she assures him, although she's warmed by his concern.

"Still," he presses, "we did this to spend more time together, right? And all I've done is blow you off."

"I thought we did it because you'd get bored not being able to play football and sullen because you'd still have to watch your teammates," she says with a chuckle, to let him know that he doesn't have to beat himself up over this. They've only been here for a day, after all. And while Arthur has never been an overly concerned brother, it's sweet when he tries.

His mouth twists like he's fighting a grin. "Believe it or not, Morgana, I do like hanging out with you."

She accepts the compliment magnanimously. "Well, thank you, Arthur. I appreciate that."

"So," he says, tapping his fingers on the tabletop, "do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow? There's, uh, there's someone I want you to meet."

"Oh, Arthur!" she exclaims, suddenly exasperated. He's always trying to set her up with one of his teammates, and she always hates it, and why can't he take a hint? And he's found a blind date for her after they've been here for _one_ day? Seriously? "You've got to be joking. I am not going out on one of your stupid blind dates when I'm on vacation, and I don't care how handsome he is."

"No," he laughs, "not for you." She stares at him in wonder until, blushing, he confesses, "I met this girl last night. And, Morgana, she's . . . she's incredible."

A wistful look comes into his eyes, as if he's dreaming of picket fences and piano recitals. The only time she's seen him this serious is when he's talking about football.

"What's her name?" she asks, smiling.

She didn't think it was possible for his blush to get any deeper, but it does as he answers, "Guinevere."

"Pretty name," she murmurs.

"Beautiful, just like her."

"So, you want me to meet her, then, is that it?" Unable to help herself, she teases, "Is that really a good idea? I know an awful lot of embarrassing stories about you."

"Very funny." He crosses his arms and sets his jaw, determined to prove she'd never get away with such a scheme, but then, voice low, asks, "So, you'll come?"

"Sure," she nods. "As long as it's just her."

"Morgana . . ." he begins with a frown.

She squirms in her chair, because she knows what comes next. She's been on the receiving end of this talk from many people – her editor, her publisher, her father – though, up until now, Arthur hadn't been in that group. He's touched upon it, of course, as there's really no way around it, but she's always thought they have a great way of skirting around each other's most emotional issues. They're not the sort of siblings who sit up with one another at night until all hours, drinking tea and chatting about love lives and growing up. Just because the Pendragons don't love in an obvious way doesn't mean they love any less, and it's been a long time since she realized Arthur really was her best friend.

When he turns to look at her, his blue eyes are full of such sincerity that it takes all her effort to fortify her defenses before he can force her to reexamine the life choices she's been making in the past five months and fourteen days.

"Do you remember when you first came to live in England?" he asks, and, as she's caught off guard by his unusual approach, her walls come crashing right back down.

"What?"

"I still remember," he tells her, chuckling, "you'd only been with us for a few weeks, and I had friends over to play football. You didn't know any of them, and I was still too angry at being forced to share everything with you that I refused to let you play. And do you remember what you did?"

She shakes her head.

Still grinning, he continues, "I yelled at you to stay out of our way, but you marched right out of the house, insisted on playing with us, and even ran circles around us, I'm pretty sure."

Now that it's coming back to her, she smiles at the memory. "What's your point, Arthur?"

"My point is when we were eleven years old, we couldn't get you to shut up and you wanted to be friends with everybody. And, Morgana, you're smart, you're beautiful, you're fun to be around. I love being able to introduce you as my sister. So, I guess what I'm asking is, what do you have to be afraid of?"

* * *

Sarah descends the gangplank and pulls her t-shirt over her bikini top. Her partner gallantly sees her off safely. His name is Chuck. She didn't think people still named their kids 'Chuck.'

"So, hey," he begins clumsily. Everything he does seems to be awkward, although she has to admit that it's refreshing and even a little bit amusing to see how she can affect him. "Thanks again for partnering with me. You probably don't get how much I appreciate it."

"Well, you've told me about a dozen times now," she smiles, "so I'm starting to get it, I think. Besides, it was fun, really."

"If you say so," he chuckles.

"I do," she assures him, smiling at that awkward, self-deprecating way he has that somehow manages to be charming and disarming at the same time.

And, weirdly, she means it. Just a few hours ago, she'd been raging against the premier's presumption that he could control her agenda. Even if he was just making sure she had a good visit to his country, he didn't know her at all, didn't understand that she'd much prefer spending time on her own over being forced into activities with strangers. And even though she'd agreed to partner with Chuck out of his sheer desperation and merely because that's how the numbers shook out, she didn't find it nearly as bad as it could have been. He was gentlemanly and sweet, always pointing out fish to her and letting her explore reefs first, and those weren't attributes she was accustomed to dealing with in her line of work.

They say goodbye, and then he retreats to where his sister and her boyfriend are standing huddled together, probably to game plan their next activity. She can imagine it now – they're the family who never stops going, never settles for a moment of idleness.

She watches them for a moment, feeling an odd sort of melancholy overcome her, then suddenly remembers she's not supposed to be enjoying herself here because she's still mad at her best friend for abandoning her on this island. With that in mind to fuel her frustration, she whips out her cellphone and speed dials Carina.

Only the call doesn't go through. In fact, her phone doesn't seem to be working at all. She lets out a low growl and jabs at the buttons, but all she succeeds in doing is causing the screen to go black. Lips pulled tight in anger, her first instinct is to throw the damn thing. But angry reactions aren't ones that keep you from being noticed, so she tamps it down and settles for squeezing the phone in her fist, letting out another soft growl, and stalking off in the general direction of the resort.

It's not long before a familiar figure catches up with her.

"Hey, I'm, uh, sorry to bother you," Chuck says, not quite meeting her eyes, "but I couldn't help but notice you're having trouble with your phone."

"Yeah," she nods, stopping to face him. "What about it?"

It comes out a little more harshly than she meant it, and he winces.

He reaches up rub the back of his neck nervously, then explains, "It's just, uh, I'm pretty good with electronics. I thought I could help. That's all." When she doesn't answer right away, he hurriedly continues, "But, you know, if you don't want my help, or if you want me to just go away, I get it. I just thought . . ."

"No," she says, to cut off his rambling and because his offer is rather adorable. "That sounds great. Here. Why don't you give it a look?"

He perks up a bit when she holds the phone out to him, but when he takes it, it's like he turns into another person, forgetting she's there and thinking only of the problem he has to fix.

"Oh, yeah, the Intellicell," he murmurs. "Yeah, absolutely. This model has a little screw that pops loose right in the back here." He pops off the back of the phone and sticks the cover in his mouth. Holding the phone with one hand, he carefully tightens a screw with the other, working slowly since his fingers are so large and the screw is so small. "And you just go ahead and give it a couple quick turns and –" When it's done, he presents the fixed phone to her with a small flourish. – "good as new."

Eyebrows raised in surprise, she says, "Wow. You geeks are good."

He blushes. "Nerds. I would say 'nerds' probably more, yeah."

She chuckles, the laugh reaching down into her and touching her heart. There's absolutely no reason she should feel this comfortable with a guy like this. There's absolutely no reason he should make her feel any differently than anyone else does, so why does she have this urge to sit down over a beer with him and watch the waves and pick his brain over the little details of life instead of push him away like she does everyone else?

"Well, thank you, Chuck."

"Yeah, glad I could help," he shrugs. "That seemed like a really important call you were trying to make."

After a brief, almost unnoticeable, hesitation, she says, "Yeah, well, one of my girlfriends canceled on me at the last minute for this trip, and I haven't yelled at her via voicemail in at least four hours, so . . ."

He laughs. "Well, if that's the case, Ellie, Devon, and I were about to go to lunch. Maybe, uh, maybe you'd want to come along . . . ?"

Her stomach lurches. Back by the dock, she can see his sister and her boyfriend – Ellie and Devon, apparently – waiting and watching apprehensively. She can hear Carina's voice in her mind now, telling her to jump at him, that a little island romance is just what she needs to get her head straightened out. But this man standing in front of her, he's earnest and he's kind, she can tell that from just spending a morning with him, and there's no telling what the consequences would be if she were to go down that road. For her or for him.

But even if she went out to lunch with these three, she can't imagine it would stay a simple lunch for very long. These aren't people who see a stray and just let go. These aren't people who don't get attached.

No, there's too much danger of her getting involved.

"I'm sorry, Chuck," she tells him, and his face falls. "I've got . . . plans."

"Oh, sure. Sure. Thanks again for putting up with me this morning."

But then he looks so dejected and forlorn that she surprises herself by saying, "But, hey, maybe a rain check?"

And her traitorous heart blossoms when he grins in return.


	4. Monday, Part I

**A/N**:I hope the characters in the story description aren't misleading. I need to use one from each show, and I don't want it to look like a Chuck/Merlin story, haha. Just so no one is confused, this story focuses on Merlin/Morgana and Chuck/Sarah. :)

* * *

Camelot really is the greatest place on earth, Chuck decides as he soundly kicks Merlin's behind at _Mario Kart_. He can't believe that a hotel that has put so much effort into taking you back into the Middle Ages offers rooms with such modern accoutrements like video games and drinks with the little fancy umbrellas in them.

"Damn," Merlin says, tossing aside his controller with a shake of his head. "Maybe I should've found out how good you were before we bet."

Laughing, Chuck sets down his controller and leans back in his chair. Maybe he should've gotten more of a read on his new friend before accepting the bet, but it's only a beer for every win, and the latest race brings the total to Chuck – 6, Merlin – 0. So yeah, he could've stopped a bit sooner.

"You mean the tape around my fingers the other day didn't warn you?" Chuck asks with a smile.

"Yeah, you're right. Should've known," concedes Merlin with a chuckle. He settles back on the couch cushions, crosses his arms, kicks his legs out in front of him. "So, when are Ellie and Devon coming back?"

"Not sure. They're parasailing or rock climbing or something – maybe both – so they left me a nice little window where I don't have to pretend to be social. How'd you escape from Gwen?"

"Oh, she met some bloke."

"Oh, yeah?" Chuck asks, eyebrows raised. He's reminded of his own brief encounter with a beautiful blonde the previous day. He almost still can't believe she had been real, that a woman like that – confident and amazing and fascinating – had stooped to have a conversation with him, even be his snorkeling partner.

But she'd slipped through his fingers. No real surprise there, because he's a nerd and she's a goddess and real life doesn't work like that. Still, he's glad to hear that someone at least is making meaningful connections, even if he can't manage it.

Chuck ventures, "And how do you feel about that?"

"We're not dating, you know. And I don't have some secret crush on her," Merlin shoots back, though his voice holds no anger.

Chuck holds up his hands in defense. "I wasn't suggesting anything, I swear. I just meant that it can get weird when your best friend finds someone and suddenly all your time together disappears, you know?"

"Yeah, it is kind of weird, especially since I don't know what this fellow's like."

"You haven't met him yet?"

With a shake of his head, Merlin explains, "I'm going to tonight."

"And what if you don't approve of him? Will Gwen listen to your opinion?"

"Not a chance. She knows her own mind, that one," Merlin laughs. Before Chuck can respond, he adds thoughtfully, "That's a good thing, though. Keeps me in check sometimes."

"Come on. A guy like you? Why would you ever need to be kept in check?"

"You'd be surprised. Gwen's a dreamer. She doesn't like how . . . cynical I can get."

"Must be all that medieval poetry you read."

"Must be," Merlin mutters. But it's not true. He's felt this way since he knew what love was, could create a working definition for himself. One of the main reasons he decided to pursue a higher degree in medieval literature was precisely because he was searching for that unattainable essence the poets always put on a pedestal but which he has always found frustratingly elusive. He asks, "Do you want to know a secret?"

Chuck pauses. This is veering dangerously close to guy talk territory, which is, strangely, not something he's used to. He and Morgan rarely talk anything but what Ellie likes to refer to as 'nerd speak,' – affectionately, he thinks – video games and comics and the like. Not girls or relationships, really. And Awesome is not exactly the type of guy he would go to for advice on those topics. But, as alike as they are, even if they've only known each other for two days, Merlin is quickly becoming a friend, and one he can talk to at that.

Merlin sits forward, his forearms on his knees. "That woman we saw at the bar on Saturday night?"

Chuck thinks back but doesn't have to reach far for the image of a striking woman with long dark hair and dazzling green eyes. "Yeah, I remember."

Shaking his head, Merlin confesses, "I haven't been able to get her out of my head." He smiles ruefully. "I never even spoke to her. Isn't that insane?"

He can sense his friend is looking for a certain answer, but after the morning he had yesterday, all Chuck can tell him is the truth. "No. Not at all." When Merlin lifts his head to give him a disbelieving look, he chuckles and clarifies, "I kind of met a girl yesterday."

"That's awesome," Merlin grins.

"It would be if she knew I existed," says Chuck with a grimace. He sighs and rubs at his eyes, suddenly feeling tired and crazy and definitely not the kind of guy who falls on a girl like Sarah's radar.

"Come on. That can't be true."

Chuck shrugs. "Might as well be. We were snorkeling partners, so she knows who I am, but I can guarantee you she's forgotten my name by now."

Merlin's smile fades. "Why's that?"

"Because Sarah is gorgeous and smart and way out of my league. I mean look at us, Merlin." He gestures between them, thinking back to when they'd met, both in jeans and sneakers and long-sleeved shirts instead of beach wear. "A woman like that doesn't look twice at a guy like me." A little bitterly, he adds, "They go for better looking guys. . . . Or complete douchebags."

He'll never be able to understand why certain women prefer jerks to guys who would treat them well.

They fall quiet for a while, both lost in thought, one dreaming of a blonde, the other of a brunette, both acknowledging how crazy it was for them to be this far gone after a few words, after one glimpse.

Finally, Merlin says, "What if that's our fault?"

Chuck's brow furrows. "What do you mean?" Of course it's their fault. If they were cooler, or better looking, or richer, they might have a shot.

Merlin sits up straight as he explains, "We never give them any reason to look twice, do we? We always just sit around waiting for them to notice us when all that does is give those tossers time to step in."

"What, you're saying . . . we should make the first move?"

Merlin stares at the coffee table, realizing that yes, this is exactly the conclusion he's come to. But he's spent his whole life being ignored – not just by women, but by everyone – and he's starting to realize that nice guys don't fall behind in the race because of lack of effort or talent, but because they simply don't jump on the opportunities available to them.

"Yeah," Merlin chuckles, "I think that's what I'm saying."

"That's insane."

"I know."

"I haven't seen her since then. I don't even know where her room is."

"You know her name, though. Sarah, you said."

"Yeah."

"Then you're better off than I am."

Chuck is quiet for a minute, musing, then asks, "So, what do we do?"

Jaw set, Merlin says, "I think we need to find these girls."

* * *

"Hey, Carina," Sarah says into her friend's voicemail, her voice much calmer than all the other times she's left messages. She's still angry with her for leaving her alone, but less because she's afraid she'll go crazy without spying and more because she could really use a friend to talk to right now. "I know you're trying to teach me a lesson or something, but if you get this, could you give me a call back? I . . . I really need someone to talk to right now."

She ends the call and tosses her phone to the end of the bed. She's been lying here for hours now, just flipping through the channels and subsisting on snacks from the minibar, not even energetic enough to call room service. She's accustomed to being alone, but for nearly ten years, she's always had a mission to distract herself. Now, she has no mission, a best friend who refuses to pick up her phone calls, and a nerd who has somehow managed to charm his way into her thoughts. And the most frustrating thing is that she hadn't even a chance to say 'no,' because of the self-conscious way he'd rambled and the way he'd smiled at her and even the way he'd fixed her phone just to help her out.

She lets out a long sigh. If he were a fellow spy, she'd know exactly what to do. Then again, if he were a fellow spy, this wouldn't be an issue, because there would be no question of relationships or strings or baggage. There'd be no messiness.

She kicks her legs in the air and lets out a furious growl. A curly-haired nerd named Chuck Bartowski is all that occupies her mind, and she doesn't know how to feel about that.

* * *

Gwen is relaxing in the living area of their suite for a little while, in between being at the beach and getting ready for her dinner with Arthur, when Merlin breezes in.

"Whoa!" she says as he rushes by. "What are you up to?"

He disappears into his room. A minute later, he comes back, sunglasses perched on his head and a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. "Um, I have a mission. Gotta go!"

She narrows her eyes. "A mission?"

But he's already out the door again.

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Chuck asks as they climb the stairs, but his doubt washes away once Merlin throws the door to the roof open, exposing the brilliance of the Costa Gravas sky. "Wow . . ." he murmurs.

Merlin walks toward the edge of the roof, takes the canvas chair from off his shoulder, and unfolds it.

"Nah," he says, waving away Chuck's concerns. "It's fine. Gwen works at the Camelot in London. She knows the layout, and she says they never patrol the roof at all. We'll be fine."

Chuck is still a bit unsure, but he can either leave and go back to his normal life or he can take the opportunity here and maybe it will lead somewhere he never dreamed of. So he unfolds his chair and sits down with a sigh.

From his messenger bag, Merlin withdraws a package of Red Vines, two lukewarm cans of beer, and a pair of binoculars.

Chuck purses his lips. "Isn't this a bit stalkerish?"

After considering for a moment, Merlin shakes his head and says, "No. We're doing reconnaissance. That's all."

"Okay," Chuck replies with a light laugh. "So, what's our excuse if we get caught?"

Merlin grins. "Bird watching?"

Chuck shakes his head and mutters, "This is ridiculous."

It is, Merlin agrees. But he's sick of simply gliding through life, no waves, no bumps, nothing to excite him. Normally, he would sit back, accept that he'll never see this girl again, and move on, but he's in the mood to do something crazy, and if that something crazy leads to a meeting with her, then he's ready for that. His life needs a change for the better.

"So, what does this Sarah look like?" he asks.

"Uh," Chuck begins, already scouting the beach below them, "she's blonde, tall. Athletic-looking . . . like, agile – like she could be a dancer or something." He pauses, thinking, then adds, "But kind of aloof, lonely even. I think she's here on her own, and she doesn't seem that interested in making friends, so she won't be with anyone."

"Huh, okay," mutters Merlin, lifting the binoculars.

_How peculiar that is_, he muses, not only because Chuck has been able to figure that out in such a short period of time, but also because he has a feeling that his mysterious woman is similar. He may be delusional, but, after a fleeting glimpse, he feels as if he knows her, knows that she has no desire to be the life of the party, instead yearns for intimate conversations over cups of tea and books massive enough to lose yourself in and entire afternoons spent not speaking at all, simply cuddling. And if he finds her, if they meet, then maybe, just maybe, he could give her all that.

So the two men sit back in their chairs and turn their eyes toward the crowd below them, a sense of excitement and just a hint of jumpiness threading through their veins, both knowing that this day could change their lives forever.

* * *

Morgana walks beside her brother as he hobbles on his crutches into the resort restaurant. He's dressed smartly, in a black suit and white shirt. He's even donned a tie, which tells her that he's serious about this girl. Arthur doesn't get serious about many things, and especially not after just two days. So Morgana takes a deep breath and tells herself to go into this with an open mind and without her recently-acquired sense of anxiety over social outings and new acquaintances.

Gwen is already at the table, as it turns out. Morgana's first thought is that she's remarkably beautiful, with caramel skin; dark, luscious curls; and a wide, engaging smile. She's dressed in a black, knee-length dress. Once she sees them, she stands to greet Arthur with a shy smile and hold her hand out to Morgana.

Arthur gestures between them. "Morgana, this is Guinevere. Guinevere, this is my sister, Morgana."

"But most people just call me Gwen," says the object of her dear brother's affection. "It's lovely to meet you. Arthur's told me a lot about you."

"Already?" Morgana laughs as they settle into their chairs. "I hope you haven't run out of conversation topics so quickly that you've been forced to talk about his sister."

Gwen's gaze flickers between the siblings. "He's quite proud of you, you know."

Morgana, finding herself unduly interested in her menu and feeling a heat creep into her cheeks, has no reply.

After an encouraging glance from Arthur, Gwen tries again with, "He's told me you're very fond of reading. Have you ever been to The Olde Parchment Shoppe?"

Morgana picks her head up, suddenly curious. "No. I haven't heard of it."

"My friend's uncle owns it. It's huge, but it's stacked to the brim with used books, and it smells wonderful. He's got everything you can imagine – poetry, young adult, science fiction, mystery – but he specializes in rare books and manuscripts. If he doesn't have something, he'll find it for you."

"It sounds really cool," Morgana smiles, and it does. In fact, if they were back in London right now, she'd look up directions and head out there tomorrow. Instead, recognizing that Gwen is either trying to draw her out into conversation or that she's genuinely this nice, she suggests, "You'll have to take me there whenever we get back home."

"It's a date, then," Gwen agrees with a dazzling smile.

Arthur's smiling, too, and Morgana decides that she really is just kind at heart, that she's exactly the sort of friend she needs in life, and that she's exactly the sort of girl who could soften all of her brother's rough edges. There, just like that, she makes a decision – she likes this girl.

"Where's your friend?" Arthur asks, looking around as if he's suddenly realized their party is short a person.

"I'm so sorry," Gwen says. "I told him 7 o'clock. He's not usually late. But he'll be here. I promise."

Morgana's ears perk up at the mention of a 'he.' She wasn't aware there'd be a fourth to their party or that that fourth would be male. If this is one of Arthur's schemes to push her into dating again, she'll have to have some very strong words with him when they get back to their suite.

Just as Gwen's making excuses for him, the man in question appears around the corner. He's either forgotten or refused to dress for dinner, because he's wearing jeans and a plaid, button-down shirt. His hair is black, so messy Morgana has the urge to run her fingers through it to comb it down. As he slides into his chair, her heart skips a beat, and she hates it for being turned so easily by a handsome face.

Merlin sits down as quickly as he can, flashing Gwen his best 'forgive me' grin and whispering a thousand apologies to her. He's not usually late, but his best friend is a big believer in punctuality. Still, he can hardly admit that the reason he disappeared for the entire afternoon was that he and his new friend were combing the beach for two women they'd met – or saw – in passing.

"This man who is stupidly late is my best friend, Merlin," Gwen says with a chuckle. "Merlin, this is Arthur Pendragon and his sister, Morgana."

Merlin lifts himself out of his chair slightly to shake the blond man's hand, but he falls back into it when he locks gazes with the woman sitting across the table from him.

"It's you," he mutters.


	5. Monday, Part II

"It's you," Gwen's friend says, staring at her earnestly.

Morgana can't take her eyes away from his, a stunning and vibrant cobalt, but manages to stammer out, "Ex-excuse me?"

"I've been looking for you!" Merlin exclaims, trying to keep his voice at a normal level even as his heart is shouting, _I've found her! I've found her! _He can hardly believe that, after searching for her, he's found her without even trying. Though, in truth, it's Gwen who's found her.

_Morgana_, he thinks, turning the name over in his mind. It's a beautiful name, nearly as beautiful as the woman herself, all softness and curves and grace.

Seeing the startled look in her eyes – a foggy, pale jade that makes his breath catch – he quickly amends,"I mean, not in, like, a creepy way or anything."

Morgana, staring straight back at him, takes a sip of wine to clear her head and chuckles uncertainly, "Of course not."

Who is this guy? Gwen's eyes are bugging out of her head as she turns to gawp at him. Suddenly, he jerks erratically and glares at her, which leads Morgana to believe that she's kicked him beneath the table, so obviously Gwen is befuddled by his behavior as well. He must not act like a creepster _all_ the time. Still, beyond the general unsettled feeling his greeting has provoked, she can't seem to calm her rapid heartbeat, can't seem to get her breathing under control. She looks down quickly, certain her cheeks are burning red, then up again to prove to herself that she can conquer this.

Arthur narrows his eyes at the newcomer and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "Isn't that what all stalkers say?"

Gwen elbows Merlin hard in the arm. "He's just joking. Aren't you, Merlin?"

Merlin shakes his head to clear it of all the thoughts racing through. Then, unable to keep a smile off his face, explains, "No, the other night, I was at the bar, and you walked in. Only . . . you left before I could introduce myself." He turns to Arthur and adds earnestly, "That's all I meant." Looking over at Morgana, he offers a shrug. "Missed connection, you know?"

She casts her memory back, but all she can recall of the bar on Saturday was looking for her brother. She'd been keeping an eye out for a head of blond hair and hadn't paid any attention to anything else. She'd missed this man completely. What would she have thought of him then? What does she think of him even now?

He's waiting for an answer from her, but all she can manage is a nod. And she reaches for her wine glass again.

Arthur clears his throat loudly. "Well, then," he says, still looking at Merlin out of the corner of his eye, "shall we order?"

* * *

The elevator bell dings, alerting Sarah to its arrival on the ground floor. The doors open to the reveal the lobby, and she strides out confidently toward the concierge desk. She smiles as she approaches, because civilians are generally more apt to give up information to friendly inquiries. She's just glad the concierge is a woman at the moment. She's not quite in the mood for the flirting game.

"Hi," she greets when she reaches the desk. "How are you?"

The concierge, a brunette in a black jacket and a red bowtie, looks up. A surprised smile springs to her face. "Oh, very well. And yourself?"

"Great. Thanks."

"And how may I help you?"

"Actually," Sarah begins, "I was supposed to meet a friend here. I wonder if you've seen him, by any chance – tall, lanky, curly hair, looks like he belongs more at a comic convention than in an exotic resort." The concierge looks thoughtful, so Sarah prompts, "He might have been with another couple – both doctors, both have great hair."

She pauses to let the information sink in.

After a brief moment, the concierge nods and answers musingly, "Yes. Actually, I did see them. I believe they went into the restaurant."

Sarah's smile widens. How remarkably easy. "Thank you so much," she beams. "The resort is beautiful, by the way," she adds as she skips away.

The entrance to the restaurant lies on the far side of the lobby, through a stone archway flanked by suits of armor and pennants of gold and maroon silks. Stepping through it is like stepping through a portal into the past. The lighting is low, because the overhead chandeliers have been discarded and replaced by candelabras on the tables and oil lamps on the walls, which are decorated with tapestries and painted shields. She's been in a lot of places that could claim a romantic atmosphere, but she's never allowed herself to succumb to it before. As she spots a shock of curly hair across the dining room, she thinks that, tonight, she just might.

Without stopping to explain herself to the maître d', she cuts a path across the floor, threading her way through the tables and ignoring the glances as she goes by.

The boyfriend sees her first. Devon, she remembers. His face splitting into a grin, he stands up to greet her.

"Oh, wow. Sarah," he says, "we thought we sent you running."

Ellie watches the exchange with an ever-widening smile, but Chuck's fork goes clattering to the table when he turns around to see the cause of the interruption.

Devon puts a palm to his mouth and says conspiratorially, as if Chuck and Ellie can't hear, "The Bartowskis can be a bit intense, if you know what I mean," and then laughs without any more explanation.

She chuckles lightly, to humor him, because no, she can't really see how a guy as mild-mannered as Chuck could be classified as 'intense.'

"Um, er . . ." he stammers.

"Hey," she says softly, her eyes locking with his.

It feels as if the world shrinks. She can feel her heart pounding against her chest, aching to get out, and her mouth is suddenly dry. Chuck is dressed in a dark suit with a dark blue striped shirt and a black checked tie. He even has a little square of blue silk sticking out of his pocket. The suit's a little big in the shoulders, but he looks extraordinarily handsome.

Tearing her gaze from his and turning to Ellie and Devon, who's taken his seat again, she says, "I thought I'd take you up on that offer for a meal with the Bartowskis. If that's all right you, that is."

Ellie looks to Chuck and, when he's too tongue tied to reply right away, kicks him sharply in the shin.

"Oh, right," he says, coughing to cover the sound of his grunt of pain. He stands to pull out the chair beside him. Even though his brain is spinning because she looks gorgeous, and why is she even here? He thought she'd forgotten about him as soon as he left her sight. He manages to choke out, "No, no, no. Of course. Please, have a seat. Uh, do you like Shiraz?"

* * *

Merlin washes down a bite of chicken with a slug of wine. He can't tell if it's starting to go to his head or if he's feeling this lightheaded merely from being around Morgana. Every time he looks at her, it's like he has to teach himself how to breathe all over again.

"So, Morgana," he begins, clearing his throat, "what do you do?"

She studies her plate. She was wondering when this was going to come up. "I'm a writer, actually," she tells him simply.

"Oh, wow," he murmurs, impressed. "What do you write?"

"Mostly novels."

"Anything I would know?"

She hesitates, but Arthur interjects with, "_A Herald of a New Age, A Servant of Two Masters, The Witch's Quickening, The Sorcerer's Shadow, To Kill the King_. All best-sellers. I'm sure you've heard of them."

"Arthur!"

Merlin chokes on his wine and nearly drops his fork. This goddess sitting across from him is Morgana Cornwall? He found her books in his first year of uni, when life seemed to be rushing on without him, and they provided a sort of comfort he never knew he could find in fiction.

"What?" Arthur laughs, looking quite pleased at outing his sister's secret. "They're good! If you're not going to boast, I will."

"Good?" Merlin asks rhetorically. "They're fantastic. I've read all of them. In fact, I've got _A Servant of Two Masters_ upstairs in my room." He shakes his head disbelievingly. "That's you?"

Morgana nods and lets out a sigh. She musters a sheepish smile and tells him, "I write under my mother's maiden name. But yeah, that's me."

"Oh, my God," he mutters, more to himself than to anyone at the table. "I can't believe this. This is incredible."

"Okay," Gwen chuckles, "calm down, Merlin."

"But Gwen . . ." he pleads, throwing his gaze her way, and something passes between them that Morgana can't decipher. But Gwen's smile softens, and Merlin looks back at Morgana to explain, "I'm serious. Modern literature . . . so much of it is formulaic. Or it puts too much emphasis on things they think the reader wants to see without backing it up."

"Such as?" Morgana prompts, starting to wonder if this will turn into a philosophical literature discussion. Even as a writer, she's not accustomed to talking about books, because she hangs out mostly with Arthur and his mates, whose topic of choice is sports, and her boyfriends have never quite had an intellectual bent.

"You know, relationships mostly. They present these characters who are supposed to fall in love without giving any of the why behind it, without showing how his quirks appeal to her and how her amiability draws him out of his shyness. Things like that. And they just take it for granted that we'll believe it."

Twisting her lips thoughtfully, she twirls her wine glass between her fingers. "So, you don't believe in love?"

He smiles. For the first time, she notices how it lights his eyes, and how much she likes the effect.

"I didn't say that," he chuckles. "But . . . not really, no."

Morgana lets his confession sink in. It's not one that she hears all that often, or ever really. All the men she's known, the losers and the cads and even the ones who had a bit of respectability about them, had spoken of love in idealistic, naïve phrases stolen from poets and dreamers past.

Merlin scratches his head and lets out a sigh. "What I'm trying to say is . . . everything you write, it's like looking in a mirror. The things you say in your books – I've felt all of that, only it's like you can take what I feel and articulate it in a less clinical, more beautiful way. I found your first book right after Gwen and I started university. It was such a different world from what I'd known, and Gwen made friends so easily. But your books, they made me feel not so alone." He looks down. "You probably don't understand what that feels like."

"No," she assures him quickly, softly. "I do."

He looks up again to meet her gaze, and time slows to a stop. A spark blooms in her chest, small and quivering, and she knows she must tamp it down soon or it will grow, nourished by his smiles and his jokes and his kind words, into something that will consume her.

Gwen's eyes flicker between the two. They're oblivious to the world around them and don't even notice when she learns forward to whisper across the table to Arthur, "Should we leave them alone?"

"Probably," Arthur replies in an undertone, "but I really want pudding."

* * *

"So, Sarah, what do you do?" Ellie asks.

Chuck's unspeakably grateful to his sister and Devon for valiantly carrying the conversation, because he's too dumbstruck by the fact that Sarah's even here. It doesn't help that she looks absolutely stunning, with her straight, blonde hair framing her face and a bright, happy smile enhancing her beauty. Her dress is black, covered in flower details and cutouts. Sitting beside her, he can see that it barely covers her thighs. He gulps down another mouthful of wine.

"I'm in international relations," she says, flicking a gaze at Chuck.

He's been really quiet since she joined the table, and she's starting to wonder if this was the right move. Maybe he was only being polite yesterday. Maybe he thought she was a giant bore and didn't want to spend any more time with her at all. She stabs at a leaf of lettuce. She's been at this for so long now that she never has to second guess herself. Chuck, though, he's different. He's sweet, which is not something she's used to, and maybe he deserves more than her normal flirting game.

"That sounds . . ." Devon begins, trailing off as he searches for the word.

"Boring," she finishes for him with a chuckle, and Ellie and Devon both laugh. "Actually, it sounds more exciting than it is. I get to travel a lot, but . . . I never really experience the places I go to. I see a lot of airport terminals and hotel rooms, though."

"Yeah," Chuck says, speaking up for the first time in over ten minutes.

Sarah's almost afraid to look at him in case it makes him retreat into his shell again.

But she risks a glance, and, after an encouraging look from his sister, he continues, "Yeah, almost like life keeps hurtling on, and you're just going through the motions day after day, trying to figure things out, but it's all moving just a bit too fast for you to make any headway."

He stops and looks up, realizes they're all regarding him in wonder, even Sarah, who wears an expression somewhere between amusement and awe.

But then she breathes, "Yeah. Exactly like that," and the vice around his lungs loosens.

It gives him the courage to add, "And sometimes, you just want to scream at the top of your lungs, and shake the world and bully it into giving you a chance to start over."

Softly, she smiles and says, "But then, don't you feel there are moments that make you stop to appreciate all the little things, that make you think you're on the right path after all?"

_Moments like this one_, her gaze seems to say, even though that's crazy and a girl like her could never be interested in a guy like him, not enough to make her stop to appreciate the small joys of life, like how the paths of two people can intersect at such a precise moment that something like fate must be behind it.

Chuck's lips quirk into a small, hesitant smile. "Right."

There's a strange swooping sensation in Sarah's stomach that she forces herself to ignore. If Carina were here and had any inkling she were serious, she'd be laughing herself silly right now. Spies aren't supposed to be disenchanted or dissatisfied with their lot, and she'd never breathed a word about it to her best friend. It never seemed like the sort of thing Carina would have cared about. Still, that doesn't explain why this guy sitting beside her makes it so easy for her to open up. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was putting on this awkward, ingenuous act just to play her.

But he's Chuck. And there's no reason for that to be true. None at all. Right?

She clears her throat. "So, what do you do, Chuck?"

He blushes fiercely and drops his head. "I, uh, I work in retail. Fixing computers."

"For right now," Ellie interjects quickly. "He's got a whole five-year plan. Isn't that right, Chuck?"

Sarah looks between the two siblings and waits for Chuck to answer, sensing that he needs a little of Ellie's encouragement and a little of her patience. So she waits.

He clears his throat nervously. "Uh, yeah, yeah. I'm hoping to get back into programming someday, so . . . we'll see how that goes, I guess."

Sarah offers a warm smile. "Well, I'm sure whatever you end up choosing, you'll be great at it."

"Thanks," he breathes, grinning now.

She picks up her wine glass. "Should we toast?"

Ellie and Devon lift their glasses as well, but Chuck is slower to do so.

Ellie's beaming as she asks, "What should we toast to?"

"The future," Sarah answers, catching Chuck's eyes out of the corner of hers. "And whatever it holds."

Later, after a significant look from his sister, Chuck offers to walk her back to her room, and she gratefully accepts. But then she can't suppress a smile when he decides to stand on the other side of the elevator and walk on the opposite side of the huge hallway.

"Are you escorting me or avoiding me?" she teases when they're halfway down the hall, feeling a warm, bubbly feeling in her chest. It's unfamiliar and not something she can name, but she knows she doesn't want to stop it.

He immediately turns red and mumbles, "Oh! Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, Chuck. If you didn't want to walk me, all you had to do was say so."

"No, no, no," he shakes his head. "It's just . . . I mean . . ."

"What?" she asks, trying to stifle her grin in case he thinks she's laughing _at_ him.

He rubs at his neck nervously and sucks in a breath. It comes out in a _whoosh_ as he says, "Look at you."

She stops walking. "What?"

When he stops, the light from the wall sconce behind him throws his face into shadow. Still, she can sense how uncomfortable he is.

He sighs again. "We met by chance. By anyone's book, a woman like you shouldn't have given me a second thought after that snorkeling lesson. So . . . why'd you come to dinner tonight? Why don't you just forget about me and get on with your vacation?"

She bites her lip. "Because I don't meet many guys like you."

"What," he scoffs, "losers who make eleven dollars an hour and live with their sisters?"

A frown comes to her face, because he shouldn't think about himself like that. He has so much to offer. Why can't he see that?

"Nice guys," she says softly, "who treat me respectfully because I'm a human being, and not like some sex object just because of how I look." She pushes past him and heads toward her room, inserting and turning the old, metal key. "I won't bother you anymore." Sighing, she turns to glance at him. "But thanks for walking me back."

She opens the door and walks inside.

Chuck stands stupidly outside of her door, hands at his sides, watching her close the door on him. She asked him to walk her back for a reason, didn't she? Maybe not, but what's the harm in asking? Didn't he and Merlin make promises to themselves to be bold this week, to seek out the opportunities they usually let slip by? He's let his life fly by him for 27 years. He's done with that.

And if she rejects him, then . . . he'll just have to deal with that.

The door's nearly shut when he calls out.

"Hey! Wait!"

She steps back into the threshold. He looks adorable and awkward, and for one split second, she can imagine a completely normal life where he's the one who's beside her on the couch in the evenings, he's the one who leaves her notes on the fridge just to let her know he's thinking about her, he's the one who takes her out on fancy dates for their anniversary or just because it's Monday and he loves her.

But spies don't get 'normal.'

He lifts his shoulders in a questioning shrug. "Are you busy tomorrow?"

* * *

Arthur sighs as Morgana helps him sit down on the couch in their suite.

She waits for him to settle, then lifts a brow at him and asks, "Tea?"

"Tea," he agrees.

When she comes back with it a few minutes later, she hands him a mug and plops down beside him.

"So . . ." he prompts, taking a sip of tea.

"So," she smiles in return, knowing what he's after and refusing to give it to him.

He huffs and rolls his eyes. "What'd you think?"

Chuckling, she answers, "She's perfect. Way too sweet-hearted for you, though. I can't see it lasting, really."

"Oh, shut it," he gripes, bumping her in the shoulder.

"Fine," she relents with a grin. "But honestly, she's seems a darling. So if you're serious about her . . ."

He frowns. "What?"

"Maybe you should show her, that's all."

Arthur nods thoughtfully. He's never been serious about relationships, about anything but football really, but she could see, in a weird way, how this thing could work out. Even after knowing her for just a night, she has the feeling that Gwen could be really good for him.

She's so lost in thought that she's taken off-guard when he turns the subject around and asks, "So, what'd you think about her friend, Merlin?"

She chokes on her tea. "Uh, excuse me? What do you mean?"

A grin springs to her brother's face. "_I mean_, you two seemed to hit it off quite well. So . . ."

She decides her best bet is to play dumb. "So, what, Arthur?"

Eyebrows lifted, he shakes his head. "So, nothing. Just . . ." He shrugs. "Despite his rather stalkerish entrance, he seems pretty nice, like . . . like he could be good for you."

She pulls her knee up to her chest and takes another sip of tea. Her head, and her heart if she's being honest with herself, is still reeling from dinner with Merlin, but as soon as they'd parted, she'd convinced herself that was the end of it, that she'd come back to her room, forget about him, start writing. She hadn't stopped to consider how much Arthur and Gwen would want to hang out this week, and therefore that spending more time with Merlin was a definite, definite possibility.

"Just think about it, okay, Morgana?"

She nods. "Sure."

* * *

"Going to bed already?" Gwen asks innocently enough.

Merlin turns around in the door of his bedroom. He runs a hand through his messy hair. "Uh, yeah. Yeah. Kinda tired."

Gwen's eyes sparkle. "Oh, yeah? Did your endless conversation with Arthur's sister wear you out?"

He resists the urge to stick his tongue out at his oldest friend. Instead, he says simply, "She was, uh . . ."

"Renders you speechless, huh? That's a first," she teases. "Not so mad I dragged you along now, are you?"

"It's only Monday," he reminds her. "I still have time to change my mind again."

"Very funny," she laughs. "So, what'd you think about Arthur, then?"

Merlin shrugs. "Bit of a prat, isn't it?"

Chuckling, she shakes her head. "He grows on you." She turns away, but looks back to add playfully, "Maybe if you spent less time talking to his sister and more time talking to him, you'd realize that."

* * *

"Hey, Chuck!"

Chuck's attempts to sneak through the suite door and into his bedroom without Ellie and Devon fail. Grimacing, he freezes, waits a beat, then turns around to face them, sitting on the couch in pajamas and watching television.

"Oh, hey, guys," he says. "Didn't realize you'd still be awake."

"Can't go to sleep right after eating, bro," Devon informs him. "Not good for the digestion."

"Oh. Right."

"So . . ." Ellie prompts with that wicked grin of hers.

"So," he shrugs. "The rooms on the twelfth floor are a lot nicer for some reason. Weird, huh?"

"Chuck," his sister says sternly. "Sarah's a nice girl."

He sighs, sensing that she's not going to let this go until this conversation takes place. "Uh-huh."

"Sweet, fun, has her life together."

"Yep."

"Not to mention pretty."

He gulps. He's not very good at this sort of thing, not good at it at all, actually. He can't make sense of how he feels about Sarah, especially after knowing her for only a few days, and he's still not convinced she would have any reason to want to spend more than five minutes with him. So it would be a lot nicer if Ellie would only give him some space to figure it all out. With Ellie being Ellie, though, that's not very likely.

She wears an expectant expression, so he coughs because he doesn't really want to respond to that. Of course Sarah is gorgeous. She's more beautiful than anyone he's ever met. And a woman like that doesn't pay attention to a guy like him, a guy with one friend, a guy who works as a computer repairman for eleven bucks an hour, a guy who still lives with his sister. And goes on vacations with her.

He leans his head against the doorframe and bangs his forehead lightly. Yep, his life's a mess.

Devon booms, "Are you gonna see her again?"

"Oh!" Chuck lifts his head. After clearing his throat, he tells them, "Yeah, we're hanging out tomorrow."

"Awesome, bro!" Devon laughs. He holds his fist out. "Lock it out."

Ellie nearly squees with delight, but she manages to rein in her delight. He walks over to fist bump Devon, then makes his escape before they can drag any more information out of him.

"'Night, Team Bartowski."

"Night, dude."

"Good night, Chuck!"

* * *

Sarah waits, watching Chuck disappear down the hallway and into the elevator before she finally closes the door. She turns around, leans against it, and lets out a long sigh. Chuck Bartowski is a sweetheart, and spending the week with him will be the most fun she's had for as long as she can remember.

The academy had warned them time and again about distractions, but they weren't talking about guys like Chuck. And isn't that what Carina sent her here for? To have fun and to forget about her life for a little while?

Still, she can't shake the nagging feeling that his presence could do more than simply divert her for a week.

"Get it together, Walker," she warns herself.

After all, it's only a few days. What harm can a few days do?


	6. Tuesday

**A/N**: I'm not sure if I'm going to continue this. There hasn't been a lot of interest, and I think I'd rather be working on original stuff. So . . . we'll see.

* * *

Chuck clears his throat and paces the small square of sidewalk in front of his rented scooter. Not for the first time this week, or even this morning, he wonders if he's being incredibly foolish, if putting himself out there for a beautiful woman will only result in her rejecting him without the slightest warning, simply because she got bored or it turns out a nerd wasn't what she was looking for after all.

Luckily, Sarah wasn't the type of person to be late for an arranged meeting. He stopped short in his pacing as she appeared through the hotel's main entrance, and the way the sunlight glinted off her hair made him forget all his misgivings. His nerves were still present, though, and he hastily wiped his moist palms on his jeans.

"Good morning," she greets pleasantly, leaning in for a quick hug.

"Morning," he replies, surprised at the embrace.

She pulls away and asks, "So, what's the plan for today?"

He holds out an arm to gesture to the scooter, a simple black Vespa that he's not quite sure he'll be able to handle but which his best friend, Morgan, advised him on. Not that he should really be taking girl advice from Morgan Grimes, but Sarah's different. She seems to be endeared rather than turned off by his nerdiness, and he suspects that what he's planned will be just dorky enough to give her a day of worry-free fun.

"We," he tells her, "are going on a tour of the island."

* * *

Merlin clears his throat and turns a page as he glances up at his companions. Arthur and Gwen are lying on adjacent chaise lounges, talking and laughing without a care in the world. They've been here for hours, baking in the sun, apparently with no consideration that it's nearly two o'clock and they haven't eaten anything in quite a while. With a frown, he pulls his baseball cap down farther to shield his eyes from the sun and ignores his stomach's protesting growl. If he were a bit more comfortable with going out on his own, he'd leave those two and go find some lunch on his own.

But there's the little matter of the woman to his other side, the woman who happened to write the very book he's reading. Meeting her at dinner last night had been unexpected, but so incredible. Simply sitting beside her now makes his heart palpitate so erratically he's worried it's liable to stop beating altogether. But it's nice, too, he decides. Because she could be someone very important in his life, the one to stay by his side and push him to be better, the one who sees something inside of him that no one else can.

"They're not the most exciting company in the world, are they?"

He turns to look at her and sees a grin lighting up Morgana's face. "Not exactly," he laughs softly.

"Arthur's not usually this boring, although I suppose I should forgive him just this one time."

"Yeah, can't fault the guy for having a knee injury, can we?"

She shakes her head, then leans back in her chair and looks out at the pool and its occupants. He watches her for a moment. She looks gorgeous, of course, but he doesn't think there's a moment when she doesn't. A tiny voice pounds in his head, reminding him of his conversation with Chuck yesterday, the conversation where they'd both promised to be courageous when it came to taking charge of their non-existent love lives. After the advice he'd given his friend, he can't sit here and not act on this opportunity himself, even if it scares the wits out of him.

He tries to swallow down his fear, but instead finds that his mouth is so dry he can barely swallow at all. He tries again and chokes out, "That doesn't, that doesn't follow that we have to be boring, too, does it?"

Morgana lifts her sunglasses and regards him with amusement. "Why, Merlin, what _are_ you suggesting?"

* * *

Sarah stifles a laugh as she rests her chin against Chuck's shoulder and peeks over. She can't tell if he's driving this slowly because he's unused to the scooter or because he actually thinks he needs to drive this tortoise-like speed to keep her safe. Or to keep himself safe. Knight in cuffed jeans though he is, that is probably more likely. Chuck Bartowski isn't exactly the adrenaline-rush, start-a-fight-at-the-first-breath-of-an-insult, macho type of guy.

And, surprisingly, she's okay with that. More than okay, really. It's refreshing to be in the company of a man like Chuck, someone who doesn't pressure her to be anything than herself.

"Maybe you should let me drive," she laughs into his ear.

She feels him shiver slightly, and far from unnerving her, the sensation emboldens her. Because he isn't responding to the charms she relies on to seduce a mark. His reaction is all about _her_.

Chuck shakes the tingle out of his spine, but the memory of it, of her lips against his ear, lingers. "But you don't know where we're going," he manages to protest. If their interactions continue down this road, he doesn't think he'll be able to protest against anything she does for much longer. If she happens to ask for the key, he'll hand it over in a blink.

Luckily, she simply laughs and says, "Fine. Be secretive. But as soon as I get in control, you won't ever look back."

Chuck's immensely glad she can't see how fiercely he blushes.

Sarah nearly rolls her eyes as she listens to herself. She's talking like a schoolgirl who can't wait to show off in front of her crush. So she takes a deep breath, hugs Chuck a little tighter, and holds on as he takes a turn.

This could be a very bumpy ride.

* * *

"Um . . . I'm not sure this is the right place," Merlin says as he studies the guidebook.

Morgana pops over his shoulder to take a look, and she's suddenly so close that the temperature seems to rise by ten degrees in a split second.

"Oh?" she queries lightly.

He swallows thickly before pointing a finger at the paragraph in question and explaining, "Look right here. It says, 'This medieval-themed restaurant harkens back to olden times and offers entertainment for young and old alike, but its main draw lies in its extensive wine and ale cellar.'" He looks up at the creaky sign, depicting a jester in peeling paint, and at the old wooden door, which looks as if it's about to fall off its hinges. "This, uh, this doesn't seem right."

"What do you mean?" she asks, hands on her hips as she studies the old place, as well. "Just because it's a little old, it can't still have good ale and entertainment?"

He shrugs, shifting from one foot to the other. That's not exactly it. It's just that he's the one who asked her to lunch, he's the one who brought her to this part of town, and he's the one who'll be responsible if anything happens. This isn't their hometown. Neither of them knows anyone nearby or what this place could be like.

"That's not exactly what I meant," he mumbles.

She chuckles lightly. She shouldn't take so much delight in teasing him, but she can't really remember when she's felt this comfortable around a man she's known for less than a day. It's as if being around him brings out the playfulness she thought she'd lost forever. Merlin is like that first breath of fresh air after being cooped up in one musty old room for ages and finally smelling rosebuds and hearing birdsongs and feeling sunshine on your skin. He's reawakened her after living in a haze for so long. It should terrify her, and yet all she feels is contentment. Happiness, even.

She smiles. "Don't you know it's the hole-in-the-wall places that always have the best drinks? So, what do you say? Worth the risk?"

Merlin glances from her to the pub and back to her, watching him with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow. He relents in a heartbeat.

"Sure," he says with a sigh. "Let's check it out."

Taking his hand with a laugh, she pulls him inside, where they find a tiny hallway, ill-lit by wall lanterns and sloping downward. They exchange a questioning look, then follow it, Morgana in the lead, one hand on the wall as she picks her way through the dimness.

"You okay back there?" she asks.

"Just worrying about serial killers lurking in the darkness, that's all."

She gives his hand a reassuring squeeze and quickens her pace. The hallway emerges into a wide, open lobby, and Morgana is so taken aback that she stops short, Merlin bumping straight into her.

"Wha-, wha. . . ?" he mutters, trailing off as he looks up and takes in the setting.

This place is a TARDIS. That's the only explanation. Or they've gone far enough underground that the building's outside architecture has no bearing on its inside layout. It's way bigger than it seemed from the street. This lobby alone is as wide as a football pitch with ceilings so high that their carved detail gets lost in shadow. Stalls line the walls, selling everything from t-shirts to bread to plastic swords. Upon closer inspection, Morgana realizes some are game booths, featuring things like knife throwing, bag tossing, and plate shattering.

"What is this place?" Merlin asks. "An indoor market?"

"Actually," she replies, "I think it's some sort of indoor Renaissance Faire."

Fortunately, an information booth is set right in the middle of the hall and directly in front of them. She tilts her head questioningly, and Merlin nods. Still clutching his hand, she leads him toward the kiosk.

"Hello," the man behind the counter greets in an unidentifiable European accent. "How may I direct you?"

She smiles politely and sneaks a glance at his nametag. "Well, Harold, we're tourists, and the guidebook recommended this. Now that we've found it, what do you suggest we do first?"

Harold can't hide his glee. "The jousts," he says decisively. "I always recommend the jousts. You can't go wrong."

"There are jousts?" Merlin asks, eyes wide.

Surely, they've stepped through the looking glass.

"Oh, certainly," Harold replies. "Our entertainment runs the gamut, but the tournaments are best in my opinion." He slides his coat sleeve up to peer at his watch. "In fact, there's one beginning in about twenty minutes, just enough time to order supper and find a seat!"

"Supper?" Morgana parrots.

They're completely lost, and Harold can tell. Smiling kindly, he nods, "Yes, supper. Might I recommend the capon?" He hands them a brochure and a map, then points to the archway on the far side of the hall. "If you go through that doorway there, it'll take you to the main arena. There, you can watch the joust and eat lunch right in the stands. All the food is brought out to you so you don't have to miss one exciting moment!" When they nod to show they've digested all this, he asks, "Is there any other way in which I can be of assistance?"

Morgana turns to Merlin. "What do you think, Merlin, a joust?"

"Sure," he shrugs. "Sounds like fun."

She turns back to Harold. "I think we'd like to go see the joust, so yes, I think we're good for now. Thank you."

"You're quite welcome," smiles Harold.

"Straight through that door?"

"Straight through that door!"

Morgana, carrying the map and brochure, heads in that direction, Merlin at her side.

"I'm sure you weren't expecting to see a fake joust when you woke up this morning, were you?" she asks.

"Nah, it'll be fun," he chuckles. "Though this island seems to have a thing for the Middle Ages, doesn't it? Don't they know it was all dirt and disease and hard work?"

"You're so unromantic. What about courtly love and daring deeds and all that?"

"The stuff of poetry, nothing more. I assure you, reality wasn't nearly as shiny and idealistic as all this."

Morgana eyes him disbelievingly, then says, "Maybe that's why we like it, because it lets us believe in the goodness of the human spirit and that good can conquer evil. I mean, isn't that why you like my books?"

He reaches a hand up to rub the back of his neck nervously. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you."

"It's okay, Merlin. You didn't. It was just a question." And she gives him a smile just to let him know she's being truthful.

He calms and answers, "I only meant that your books are more than setting. The best poetry of that era is still alive today because it's relatable, and it's relatable because humanity doesn't change even though technology does. Your writing is very good at capturing that."

"Well, thank you," she tells him, blushing at the compliment. "But how about a small wager?"

"Oh? What are the terms?"

"If, at the end of the day spent in this wonderful, wacky place, you have changed your mind about the usefulness of idealism in history, you owe me something. If not, I owe you something."

"And what's the something?"

_A real date_, she thinks.

But she just shrugs and says, "Maybe we can discuss terms over a tankard of ale, what do you say?"

Merlin grins. "I say you've got yourself a bet."

* * *

"Wow," Sarah breathes as Chuck pulls the scooter around a narrow corner and a view of a colorful street market appears in her line of sight.

She slides off the bike and stands staring. Chuck kills the motor, removes his helmet, and watches her for a few seconds, silently thanking Merlin for letting him borrow his guidebook early this morning. Getting up early to do a little research was a small price to pay to see the look on her face right now.

She turns abruptly and waves a hand. "Come on, Chuck! What are you waiting for?"

And suddenly, they're in the thick of the crowd, strolling arm-in-arm, and Chuck feels blinded by the sunlight and the colors and the perfection. It's all so dazzling. He can think of nothing better than soaking it all in and hoping that time will slow down so that he can do just that. They amble past booths selling produce, freshly caught fish, jams and jellies, honeys, souvenirs, jewelry, and everything else you can think of. He's already hoping that a trinket or other will catch her eye so he'll have an excuse to purchase it for her.

Sarah catches sight of something and, before he realizes what's happening, breaks away from him. He stops in the midst of the milling crowd, looking around helplessly because he's already lost her, but she's back in a jiffy.

"Sorry!" she smiles.

"Hey," he says, "where'd you disappear to?"

"You have to try these blueberries!" she says with unconcealed excitement, popping one into her mouth and then holding one up to pop into his.

He opens his mouth obediently, and he's speedily rewarded with a burst of intense, sweet flavor.

"Whoa," he murmurs. "That's delicious."

"Told you," she tells him, trying not to grin but feeling it burst out of her instead. It's as if she can't control herself around this guy. A week ago, she would've been kicking herself for failing to keep her emotions in check, something she was taught to do years and years ago. But no, today, she's decided that she's going to treat this as vacation, like Carina meant it to be, a complete break from her life, which she managed to screw up pretty absolutely. Yes, she's finally reconciled herself to enjoying her time with Chuck Bartowski, and whatever happens at the end of that, then she'll deal with it when it comes.

Most likely, that will mean no goodbye, with no qualms about their paths ever crossing again. It's yet to be determined if the ending will be harder on her or on him, but for now, she'll enjoy a day spent in the sunshine with him at her side.

* * *

She never thought she'd have this much _fun_ again. It very well may be the ale, but she's more certain that it's the man sitting beside her. For a reason she can't quite pinpoint, he makes her feel at ease, like she can laugh all day until her stomach is sore and not even regret it.

"No, I mean it," Merlin's saying with a grin. "There was an IQ test of sorts for being a knight. Because they didn't want them losing any more brain cells than they could afford to."

"So what you're saying is that you would have stood no chance at being a knight?" she teases.

She picks up the drumstick on her plate and takes a big bite as she waits for his answer.

"Are you kidding me?" he asks, eyes narrowed. He flexes his bicep for her, and she nearly snorts out her entire mouthful of chicken, because he's still somewhere in between that lanky stage of youth and the fuller, more mature one of adulthood. Still flexing, he grins and says, "With this physique? It'd be a close call, for sure, but I'm pretty certain, in the end, they'd be smart and decide to utilize my brains instead of my brawn."

"I'm sure. I'm sure," she laughs. "That'd be the smart way to go, definitely."

Even as he reaches for his tankard to take a slug of ale, Merlin finds he can't quite take his eyes off his companion. He's mystified at how someone can be so genuinely and effortlessly stunning even when tearing off a chunk of drumstick and chasing it down with a drink.

"So," Morgana begins, "how do you know so much about this stuff, Mr. History-is-useless?"

"I never said it was useless. I said romanticizing it was silly, because there's nothing romantic about it."

"And how would you know?"

"Because I study it."

"You're a historian?"

"Well," he shrugs, "sort of. Not in title." Off her raised eyebrow, he elucidates, "I study medieval literature, poetry mostly."

"No!" she says with a sudden laugh, shaking her head.

He tilts his head, taken aback. "What?"

"You're not seriously telling me that you sit in a library all day and read sonnets about courtly love? That . . . I can imagine you hating that."

"What? Why?"

She slaps him lightly on the shoulder. "You don't have a romantic bone in your body!" Here was a guy who openly confessed to not believing in love, and yet he had confined himself to reading about it and writing papers on it? It was too absurd not to laugh at the notion.

"Just because I don't believe in love doesn't mean I don't think it's interesting to study why people think about it all the time, or how they react to what they think they feel. Besides," he says with a smile, just to let her know that he's not angry at her for questioning what he's chosen to do, "not all of it's about love. In fact, most of the stuff about love isn't even about love. It's about sex and lust and how people can never control their desires."

She shakes her head. "I suppose human nature hasn't changed that much over the years, has it?"

He falls silent, lips pursed in thought, folding his arms and leaning back in his seat. He's oblivious to the sights and sounds of the tournament joust going on in the arena down below.

"Yeah," he agrees cautiously, "but the thing about human nature is that, even though the truths may apply as a whole, people's interactions and relationships can become something different entirely when taken on an individual and personal basis." He glances at her. "Don't you think?"

She wraps a palm around her tankard, idly watches a knight unhorse another in the list. "So, what you're saying is that love as a social construct doesn't appeal to you, but you're open to the idea of it on a personal level?"

He swallows a lump in his throat because this conversation has suddenly gotten serious and because no one, not even Gwen, has been able to pinpoint him like that, or even get him to talk about such intimate subjects.

He nods. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Have you ever been in love?" Morgana's eyes widen in shock at her own question. She would bite her tongue if the words hadn't already escaped.

Luckily, it's Merlin and he's sweet and they have such an easy rapport even from only a day-old acquaintance that he shakes his head and answers, "No. I haven't. Have you?"

She sighs. "I fancied myself in love once."

He hesitates, not wanting to push her. Gently, he asks, "What happened?"

She takes a long drag of ale. As relaxed as she is around him, she doesn't want to ruin their afternoon by talking about something that will only bring up bad memories for her and likely make him uncomfortable. And she definitely doesn't want to think about the possibility that Merlin will turn out to be exactly like all the other guys she's known, exactly like one in particular.

"Why are we talking about this?" she asks with a smile. "Aren't we meant to be having fun?"

"Sure, sorry," he says, looking back at the joust.

But he can't ignore the sadness flickering in her warm green eyes or the way she had turned away from him when he'd asked. There's something there, something he can't quite get at because of her walls, the walls that are still up despite the unspoken connection that sizzles between them. He wants to root it out, wants to know what's troubling her to he can comfort her and tell her that things get better, that they _are_ better, but he stifles that instinct, because he'd much rather her open up and _want_ to tell him, in her own time.

So he blows out a breath, smiles at her, and says, "And how could we not have fun in this completely bizarre place we've managed to find?"

"Yes, how could we not?" she agrees, her laughter lighting up her eyes and the sound of it lighting up his heart.

_Yeah_, he thinks, _this could be the start of something I'm not quite prepared for_. But then her eyes meet his, and he realizes that maybe it's something he can't prepare himself for, something it's best to let come and wash over him until he's consumed.

* * *

The view's breathtaking, absolutely breathtaking, although Chuck can't quite decide if he's thinking about the vista of the island or the woman in front of him. Maybe the combination.

At the market, they had stocked up on picnic supplies. Then Sarah had seized control of the scooter and driven them around until they'd wound their way up a mountain and this outlook had stopped them in their tracks. Now, they're settled beneath the shade of a tree he can't identify, a feast spread before them and the warm grass beneath them.

Sarah pops a strawberry into her mouth and lies back on the grass, one arm beneath her head. "So," she says, closing her eyes against the sun, "this is what it feels like to really experience a place."

"I guess so," he sighs. When she turns her head and opens her eyes to look at him, he shrugs and says, "I've never really been anywhere outside of Burbank. Sad, right?"

_No_, she thinks. _Safe_.

He should be living that sort of life – worriless, secure, with nothing to scare him out of his routine.

She turns away and closes her eyes again. "No," she assures him, "lots of people stay in the same place. Roots are good."

"Not for everyone, though."

"What makes you say that?"

"You haven't put them down."

He doesn't really know what makes him say it, because he's not the bold type. And he _does_ want her to stick around, doesn't want her rushing off with excuses because he's asking impertinent questions.

"That's . . . that's complicated," she finally tells him.

"Okay."

Sarah props herself up on an elbow to stare at him. "'Okay'?"

"Um . . ." He shrugs.

He isn't about to press her into telling him a story about her past that she's not ready to tell.

"That's all you can say after I told you that I have a very complicated past?"

"What do you want me to say?" He picks up the sleeve of goat cheese and holds it out to her. "Cheese?"

She falls back onto the grass with a chuckle. Why is being around him so relaxing? It's almost not fair, how much she lets down her guard with him. And yet isn't this what she's desperately needed, after that debacle with Bryce and all that followed afterward? Just a day, a moment to lie back in the sun with someone who understands her and no threats looming over her shoulder, political or otherwise.

"How'd you get to be such a gentleman, Chuck Bartowski?"

"I told you. I live with my sister," he chuckles. "She doesn't take much crap, if you haven't noticed." He pauses. "Is that why that surprised you?"

"Hmm?"

He purses his lips thoughtfully and takes the time to eat a blueberry before saying, "Because you're not around gentlemen very often?"

He's starting to piece together a part of the portrait of this enigmatic woman and her life. Not a big part of it, to be sure, but it's enough to know that it's not a happy portrait.

Sarah stiffens. Just when she's starting to feel comfortable, he goes and says something so penetrating that it ignites her flight instinct.

Then, just as quickly, he says with a soft laugh, "It's a good thing I didn't bring my friend Morgan along. Ellie hasn't had much success turning him into a gentleman," and it dissipates.

They relax again, enough to spend the rest of the afternoon in a leisurely, lazy haze of food and laughter and easy, intermittent conversation.

* * *

A cool, refreshing breeze ruffles Morgana's hair as her pen slides across the notebook page with barely a pause. The words flow easily now, as they haven't for months. Chewing on the pen cap, she looks at the man sitting beside her, a book splayed open on his raised knees. A smile comes to her face. His black hair shines in the lamplight, and he nibbles on his lip as he turns a page.

She could get used to this, simply spending time with someone she's comfortable around. Not having to talk. Just . . . being near.

The moment is interrupted by Arthur, of course, opening the sliding glass doors that open out onto the balcony. He has perfect timing.

"Oh, there you are," he says, his crutches clomping as he maneuvers into the doorway. "Didn't know you guys were back."

"Yeah," she nods. "We've been back for a little while."

Merlin lifts his head. "Oh, hey, Arthur."

"Hey, Merlin. Well, just wanted to make sure you two didn't get lost or kidnapped or anything, so . . ."

"You having a good day with Gwen?" Morgana asks with a smirk.

Arthur fights a smile, but he can't hide a blush. "Yeah. Yeah, it's good. Great."

"Great."

"Okay."

"Okay, then."

Arthur hovers in the doorway for a moment, throws a glance at Merlin, who's gone back to reading, and disappears. A few more minutes pass in relaxed silence, during which Merlin is just as aware of the words in front of him as he is of the woman sitting quietly beside him. It's nice, really. He wants this, wants a relationship that feels comfortable and filling and _right_ all at once. He's willing to work for something that strong and worthwhile, even if means being patient, even if it means this is going to take time.

When he finishes the chapter, he shuts the book and lays it on the table.

"Hey," he says softly, turning to her, "want some tea or something?"

"Sure," she smiles. "Thanks."

He rises and heads inside to make the tea, marveling at how differently this day has turned out from how it began.

Morgana watches him go, watches the smooth curve of his shoulders as he shuts the door behind him, and smiles to herself before returning to her notebook. How unexpected this burst of inspiration has been.

* * *

Chuck pulls up in front of the hotel and shuts off the engine. Sarah slides off the scooter in one smooth motion.

"Do you, uh, do you want me to walk you up?" he asks haltingly.

"No, that's okay," she tells him with a smile.

After the day they've just had, it's best he doesn't. She might be sorely tempted to ask him inside, and who knows what will happen after that? Besides, she needs some alone time. Chuck somehow makes her think about things she doesn't often contemplate, makes her want to start over, and better this time, and he's reminded her that there's something important she needs to do.

When he frowns, she assures him, "I'll be fine. I promise. I'll see you tomorrow?"

He nods, smiling. "Sure."

She smiles a goodbye at him, but she's halfway down the sidewalk and back to the hotel when she turns around to say, "I had an amazing time today, Chuck Bartowski. Thank you."

"You're very welcome, Sarah Walker."

When she's safely ensconced her room, she pulls out her phone and dials a familiar number. To her surprise, she gets an answer.

"Zondra," she breathes out, relieved both that she's well enough to have a phone conversation and that she's consented to speak to her. "Hey. Hey, I . . . I was hoping you'd answer."


	7. Wednesday

**A/N**: I've decided that I'll continue working on this, but because of how busy I am and how there's not much of an interest in it, I'm not going to push for regular updates.

* * *

"Do you think they'll be all right?" Gwen asks with genuine concern as she and Morgana stand in the lift, riding down toward the lobby.

Morgana looks over and, with a chuckle, asks, "Who? Arthur and Merlin? What, you mean they're not the best of friends already?"

The lift bell dings lightly, and the two women step out and head across the lobby and toward the outdoor bar. After the day she'd spent with Merlin yesterday, as fun as it was, Morgana is quite happy to get away from men and the troubles they cause for a bit, the way Merlin manages to spin her head about, and she's looking forward to getting to know Gwen a bit better.

She takes a deep breath of salty sea air as they step through the archway and out into the sandy area of the bar. As soon as they order drinks and turn around to look for a table, Morgana realizes the latter is going to be a tough task.

Gwen nudges her. "What about in the corner there?"

The table she indicates isn't empty, but it's not completely full, either. A blonde and a brunette sit across from each other, filling up only half of the table, chatting quietly and drinking wine.

"I don't know," she tells her. "We'll be squished."

"They look nice enough," says Gwen with a shrug. "Come on. It'll be fine. And it's the only open spot."

So Morgana follows her new friend over but wisely lets her do all the talking. Gwen and the brunette seem to be two of the nicest people on the planet, so the arrangement takes no time at all to complete, and a few seconds later, all four women are sitting at the table. The two couples mind their own conversations for a few minutes, until Gwen smirks at her and asks, "So, how are things going with Merlin?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Morgana dismisses.

At that moment, the brunette sitting beside Morgana turns to them and asks, "I'm sorry. You don't happen to know a Chuck Bartowski, do you? It's just . . . he's my brother, and he's been hanging out with a guy named Merlin all week."

"Well, don't know too many Merlins," Gwen chuckles. "Must be one and the same. Not that it's a bad name at all or anything like that. That's not what I meant."

The woman laughs. "No. I'm Ellie. This is Sarah."

The blonde nods a hello.

"Gwen," says her friend, holding out a hand. "And this is Morgana."

"Nice to meet you both."

"Likewise."

Ellie pauses pensively for a moment, then says, "You know, Sarah and I were having girls' night, just getting a little time away from the boys. Maybe you want to join us?"

Morgana shares a look and a shrug with Gwen. Ellie seems like the most cheerful person in the world, though Sarah seems a bit quieter, and doubling the size of their party would diffuse awkwardness if they happened to run out of small talk topics.

So Gwen smiles and says, "That sounds lovely."

* * *

"Merlin? Is that you?" Arthur calls as the door to the suite opens. He turns the sound on the television down a little.

Morgana's abandoned him for the night, so he's reluctantly hanging out with her new friend, Merlin. Reluctantly, because he would much rather be spending time with Guinevere, but also not reluctantly, because he wants to find out for himself a little more about this guy, see if he's really good enough to date his sister. Not that either of them will admit to wanting to date, but even from just their conversation at dinner the other night, he can see the kindling of something. Still, maybe the company will be good for him. If left alone too long to watch football and wallow in his gloom, the night could turn ugly very quickly.

"Yeah," Merlin answers, a bag of snacks clutched in his hand. "And I brought a few friends."

Merlin comes in, followed by a tall, curly-headed guy and a buff blond one whom he introduces as Chuck and Devon. Apparently their girlfriends have abandoned them, as well, so Merlin had wasted no time in inviting them along. Merlin sets the snacks on the table before collapsing in an oversized armchair. He didn't particularly relish the idea of hanging out with Arthur alone.

"Ouch, what happened there, bro?" asks Devon as he crashes onto the couch beside Arthur.

"Oh, don't worry," Chuck says, already opening the cheese puffs. "He's a doctor."

"Uh," Arthur frowns, shifting his braced leg into a more comfortable position, "football injury."

"Ooh, those can be rough," replies Devon with a sage nod. "How's it healing?"

"Well enough."

"Awesome! Who's playing?"

"Man U and Arsenal."

"Cool."

Arthur offers beer, and Chuck retrieves four bottles from the fridge and passes them around. The atmosphere is a little awkward at first, because Merlin and Chuck are both too uncomfortable to start the conversation and Arthur is an alpha male who's too proud to make the first move. Devon, though, either doesn't notice it or is too stand-up of a guy to let it continue.

He takes a swig of beer and then asks, "So, what brings you to Costa Gravas, Arthur?"

* * *

"No, no, no," Ellie protests, "trust me. Devon is far from perfect."

Sarah shakes her head. "Oh, come on. He _is_ perfect. And he adores you, which . . ."

She trails off and gulps down half her glass of wine, but the other three don't seem to notice. Out of the four of them, Ellie is the only one who's in a settled relationship, and Morgana and Gwen are quite keen to hear about her wonderful guy. But for all her training on blending in and making friends, "girl talk" has never been one of Sarah's strongest skills.

Still, these three laugh and joke so much, even after knowing each other for only an hour, that she realizes she's much more relaxed than she's been in a long time. Maybe it's the wine. Maybe it's the conversation. Whatever it is, there's a pleasant comfort in her chest that she doesn't entirely hate, despite her unfamiliarity with the feeling. She has to tell herself that there's nothing wrong with that. She's on vacation, and she's allowed to feel at ease for a night.

"Sometimes," Ellie continues, "sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who's got two feet in this thing, and that it's one person taking care of three feet instead of two people taking care of four. Do you know what I mean? Weeks like this are great for rejuvenating the relationship, but . . . there are still moments when I think about what it'd be like to be single again. Does that make sense? Is that _wrong_?"

The four fall silent.

Then Ellie takes a long sip of wine, gulps it down, and adds, "Who am I kidding? He's wonderful. I should be counting my blessings, not thinking about 'what ifs.'"

After a moment, Gwen says, "I'm not speaking from experience, because I haven't really had any. I've noticed that the boys tend to ignore you if you're not gorgeous and glamorous and from the right side of the tracks. But I can say that thinking about what could have been isn't very productive."

"That's right," nods Morgana. "If you want him to commit, just have a chat with him. I know my brother's so thick that being direct is the only way to get through to him, and I'm pretty sure he's a good representative of the sex."

Ellie smiles. "You know what? Yeah. That's a great idea. But it'll have to wait. Tonight, I'm having fun with you girls."

She lifts her glass in an impromptu toast, and the other three follow suit.

"All right," says Ellie, her sparkling gaze swiveling among the others, "I dished about my love life. Who's next? Don't think you're getting out of this."

Gwen twirls her wine glass. "It's . . . complicated."

"She's dating my brother," Morgana interjects helpfully.

"We're not dating. We only just met."

"But do you like him?" Ellie asks curiously.

Sarah sits back, watching the exchange and sipping her drink. She likes it best when she can listen like this.

Gwen blushes and twists her lips thoughtfully. "Of course I do. But . . ."

"But nothing," chuckles Morgana. "He's daft, I know, but believe me, he genuinely likes you."

"Sure, _now_. But what happens when we get back home? He's a football star, Morgana. He'll forget all about me."

"Why should he?" asks Ellie. "You're gorgeous and intelligent."

"He's headed the ball a few too many times," Morgana chuckles, "but I guarantee he's not dumb enough to let you go."

"Well," Gwen sighs, "we'll see, I suppose." She turns to Morgana. "What about you? How are things going with Merlin?"

Morgana's smile fades. "He's . . . he's very sweet."

"I feel a 'but' coming on," Ellie says quietly.

Morgana looks at her with wide eyes. "_But_," she soldiers on, "I'm not ready for a relationship yet. My last one . . . ended badly."

"I'm sorry to hear that," replies Ellie with a frown.

"Sometimes," Sarah says softly, but still everyone turns to look at her, "sometimes the bad relationships can teach you how to handle the good ones."

Morgana licks her lips. "I just . . . I think I've forgotten how to trust anyone. Except maybe Arthur."

Sarah twists her lips thoughtfully. Is that what happened to her? She was on her own for so long, trusting only herself, that she simply forgot? She hadn't considered it much of a disadvantage before. Then again, she hadn't known Chuck before. She takes a sip of wine and wonders if things could have been different. If her parents had stayed together, if her father had had an honest job, if she hadn't been desperate enough to join the agency . . . There were too many 'what if's for them to have ever had a fair shot.

Weren't there?

"Okay, spill it," Ellie says, her eyes narrowed. She wags a finger at both Sarah and Morgana. "The both of you. Girlfriends and wine aren't just for discussing how happy we are, you know. Come on, we're smart. You got problems, we can solve them." She smiles encouragingly. "Come on, Morgana. You first."

She coaxes Morgana's glass out of her hand, refills it, and slides it back across the table. "There you go," she says. "Nothing to be afraid of."

"Yeah, you're amongst friends," adds Gwen with a smile. She bumps her in the shoulder.

* * *

"So, the striker, he . . .?" Merlin asks helplessly.

"I score goals, mate," Arthur says with a tremendous effort to keep from rolling his eyes.

"Right, right," replies Merlin with a nod. He looks at Arthur, leaning against the kitchen table as he takes three slices of pizza from the delivery box and puts them on his plate. "Here, why don't you let me take that for you?"

"I can do it."

"I only meant . . ."

He trails off uncertainly. Making new friends has never been his strongest suit, and he's at even more of a disadvantage because he never ran in the same circles as the jocks. He has no idea how to talk to Arthur. All he knows is that if Arthur doesn't like him, that could very possibly bode ill for his burgeoning relationship with Morgana. It isn't fair if her brother decides not to like him just because he doesn't know much about football. He _is _trying, after all. Besides, he'd like to see how much Arthur knows about Audelay or de Boron.

"I know what you meant," Arthur says mildly. He lets out a hefty sigh, then adds, "Morgana's different, you know."

Merlin takes a sip of beer. Yeah, he does know. He could tell from the moment he saw her, could tell from the sick aching in his stomach that told him he'd never experience little shared moments of happiness with her, like walking the dog in the evenings, cuddling on the couch with cocoa and a movie, making dinner together. Only, over the past couple days, he's realized that he does actually have a shot at that, a shot at a life with her. If only he can change his thinking about relationships, if only he could be brave enough to tell her.

"Her last boyfriend was an arse," Arthur tells him, "and I'm not just saying that because I'm her brother. The bastard cheated on her, broke her trust." His voice drops. "I've . . . I've never seen her like that."

Merlin scratches his eyebrow, wanting to assure him but not really knowing how. "Look, Arthur, this may not come as a surprise to you, I'm not the kind of guy who dates around. I know something special when I feel it, and I feel it when I'm with Morgana. I'm not about to let that go. I'm not about to screw that up."

Surprisingly, Arthur chuckles. "I know," he says. "You're a good guy. I can tell. I'm just . . . trying to give you a bit of advice."

A smile tugs at Merlin's lips. "Why?"

Arthur shrugs. "Because despite . . ." He gestures helplessly. "Despite you being a giant nerd, you could be good for her."

Merlin grins, but he keeps quiet. Arthur doesn't seem like a guy who's comfortable with talking about feelings. Still, he can't resist asking, "So, what about Gwen?"

* * *

"Well," Morgana begins, "Merlin's a sweetheart, he really is."

Ellie holds out a hand as if to say 'so?' "And we've already established there's absolutely nothing wrong with that."

"And he's been my best friend since we were seven," Gwen adds. "He's intelligent and a real laugh, and a perfect gentleman to boot."

Sarah watches them with interest but takes no role in the conversation, knowing her turn is coming. They're going to interrogate her about Chuck, good-naturedly, of course, and what will she say? That giving in to whatever this is will only lead to broken hearts down the road? That the newness and intensity of this feeling scares her to the point of making her want to reach out to grab it?

Ellie says, "He sounds like a real winner. And if my brother likes him, I know he's a good guy. So what's stopping you?"

Morgana hesitates. Finally, quietly, she says, "My last boyfriend. I thought he was pretty wonderful, too . . . until he cheated on me."

Gwen, eyes wide in surprise, slides a hand over hers, and Morgana manages a weak smile. Sarah knows how it feels, to put your trust in someone and have it shattered. Maybe that's the real reason behind her ultimate hesitancy with Chuck – not that she can't see a future with him, but that she cannot erase the betrayal etched into her heart, scratched there by the last man she gave her trust to.

"Bastard," Ellie spits, quite expectedly.

Gwen, shaking her head, frowns, "Just because he was an arse doesn't mean all men are, though."

"No, you're right," agrees Morgana. "I try to think about it rationally, but . . ." She trails off with a helpless shrug. Chuckling mirthlessly, she adds, "He doesn't even believe in love. How can two people like us hope to get along?"

"You've got better odds than I do," says Sarah quietly.

"Why's that?"

Sarah shrugs. "You name the cliché, I'm a part of it. Daddy issues, commitment phobic, in a male-oriented career, saw my parents split up and my childhood go to the dogs. My love life's not exactly a rosy picture."

"Well, I don't mind a little baggage, myself," Morgana chuckles. "What do you say to going to bat for the other team and swearing off men forever?"

Surprisingly, Sarah feels a smile tugging at her lips. "I don't know. You think you can handle me?"

The four descend into alcohol-aided laughter. When the giggles fade, Gwen says, "I know Merlin would be very disappointed if your preferences changed."

"Okay, then," Morgana said with a grin, "so what do you suggest?"

Gwen shrugs. "Honesty's never a bad way to go. It's Merlin. If you just explain things to him, he'll understand."

"Yeah," Ellie chimes in, "and if I know my brother at all, he's the type of guy who'll understand, too."

"All you have to do is try," agrees Gwen.

"But first," says Ellie with a mischievous grin, "maybe we should order another round of liquid courage."

Morgana laughs, "Best make it stronger this time, then."

* * *

"What _about_ Gwen?" Arthur parrots, eyes narrowed.

Merlin shrugs and takes a swig of beer. He sets the bottle down and levels his gaze at his new ally. "I've been her best friend since we were seven, you know. She doesn't really go for guys like you."

Arthur starts to push himself off the table, reaching for his crutches. "What's that supposed –"

Merlin holds up a hand before Arthur can explode with the pent-up rage he knows is hiding in there and explains, "But she likes you. A lot. I can see it."

Calmer, Arthur leans back against the table. "She does?"

Frowning in confusion, he falls down in a chair. Merlin wants to laugh at the befuddled look on his face, but he knows what it's like to have your life upended by one person, to start questioning everything you've ever known because of the sparkle of a smile or the ghost of a touch. He sits down, too, pondering the confusing ways of women and how they never seemed to matter before.

"But," begins Arthur, still with that faraway look in his eyes, "sometimes there are these moments when neither of us knows what to say. I used to be good at this, you know."

"And I used to not care." Off Arthur's look, he explains, "I mean, girls never paid attention to me, so . . . I learned to pay attention to other things. Like school."

He tacks the addition on quickly lest Arthur get other ideas, but he's got his own problems on his mind.

"So what should I talk to her about?"

Merlin shrugs. "Ask her about herself. Be interested in her. And when she asks you about yourself, Gwen doesn't want to hear about how many goals you've scored or how much money you make."

Shifting uneasily in his chair, he replies, "That's all anyone expects of me nowadays. I'm not really used to talking about anything but football."

"Well," Merlin says with an encouraging smile, "I suppose we'll have to practice."

There will be lots of times he'll get it wrong, say the wrong thing, but those times will only get him closer to when he'll do everything right, and maybe that'll be enough.

"I think . . ." he says hesitantly, "I think I'm going to go."

"Where?" Arthur asks. "The game's not even over."

He takes a fortifying glug of beer. "I've only got a week here, Arthur. I can't waste any more time."

Arthur takes a deep breath. "Okay. You'll remember what I said?"

"Yeah," Merlin nods. "Slow. I promise."

"Good, because if you don't, I'll break your legs."

"Good to know."

He knows the girls have gone to the bar for the night, so that's the first place he heads. Standing in the archway, he can see them in the corner, but they look so happy that he's loath to interrupt them. So he skirts the edge, keeps his gaze on the sea, hopes that she'll notice him and follow.

When he reaches the water's edge, he plops down on the sand, takes off his tenners, sticks his feet in the cool water, and waits.

* * *

She's just a little bit tipsy as she trips out from the bar and towards the shoreline, but there's honesty in the sea breeze, and she's grabbing onto it with everything she's got. She'd seen him when he'd walked through the bar a little while ago, but there had still been things to discuss and laughter to get out of her system, not to mention nerves.

She can see his silhouette against the water, lanky arms wrapped around his knees as he stares out into the blackness. But he hears her approach, swivels, and offers his hand. Taking it, she settles gently onto the sand beside him. It's comfortable, here with him, and he keeps his hand in hers like there's nothing else in the world he'd rather do than to sit and breathe and _be_ next to her. She leans her head against his shoulder, and they sit in silence for a little while.

After a while, she says quietly, "I swore off men, you know. For a long time. And now that I've met you, I don't really know what to do."

"Well, I swore off love," Merlin says, letting out a soft chuckle, "so we're kind of in the same boat with figuring this out."

Lifting her head from his shoulder, she regards him curiously. The moonlight highlights his cheekbones and makes his black hair glint with silver.

His thumb skirts over her knuckles as he adds, "Except that's not all you're scared of, is it?"

"I can't afford to let myself be hurt again."

"I wish," he sighs, "I wish I could swear I'd never hurt you and you'd believe me, but trust doesn't work like that. So . . . I'm gonna show you. I'm gonna be here for you every day, and one of those days, you'll realize that I'm different than those jerks you dated before." He gives her hand a soft squeeze. "No matter how long it takes."

"H-how did you know?"

"Arthur told me a bit, but it made sense after some of the things you told me."

She had been cautious, liking him but too hesitant to step into anything unknown, but she's beginning to realize that closing herself off forever would be foolish, sad even, because people don't deserve to be grouped as one. They're individual, every single cell a different part of a different code, and she's learning that if some men are worse than others, then some men are better, as well.

"I want to trust you, Merlin. I do," she murmurs.

He smiles. "Let's just . . . let's just make a promise that we won't give up on each other. Okay?"

Feeling her own smile grows, she replies, "I think I can do that."

"Yeah?"

She settles her head back on his shoulder, feeling a burst of warmth in her heart as he slides his arm around her shoulders. "Yeah," she agrees, because she _does_. Because there's nothing like stars and ocean waves and the clean scents of Old Spice and old books to clear your thoughts and open your heart.

* * *

She shouldn't be doing this. She knows it, and she can't stop herself. She wants to blame it on the wine, but she's always been able to hold her alcohol and there's only the slightest of buzzings in her brain. No, she's perfectly aware of what she's doing, what she's about to do. She almost wishes she were drunk, because it'd be much easier to handle the repercussions come the morning.

She knocks once, twice, is about to knock a third time when the suite door opens. Chuck, in a red Stanford t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, stands before her.

"Sarah," he gasps, eyebrows almost invisible beneath his curly mop of hair. "H-hey. What are you . . . I mean, was I expecting you?"

"No," she admits with a sigh. "But . . . I was hoping I could come in?"

This is the part where he lets her into his room and they forget about the world for at least a night. But Chuck, blessed, wonderful Chuck, she should have expected he would be different, thoughtful.

Arms crossed, he leans against the doorframe and says, "Sarah . . . how much have you had to drink tonight?"

"Not that much."

"Still, enough probably. I don't want you to make a decision you'll only regret. Besides, we can always hang out tomorrow."

A frown furrows her brow. Chuck Bartowski could never be a regrettable decision for any woman, and she hates that he thinks of himself like that. It makes her heart ache for a future where she could wake up beside him and reassure him of his worth morning after morning.

"Chuck . . ." she murmurs, at a loss for words, which is not a common occurrence for spies, not an ever occurrence for her.

Before she can get her thoughts together, he says, "Come on," steps out into the hallway, and shuts the door behind him. "Let me walk you to your room."

Even through her jumble of emotions, she has to smile as he takes her arm and leads her down the corridor, because only Chuck Bartowski would escort a woman back to her room while wearing his PJs. Only Chuck Bartowski would escort a woman back to her room at all.

She lets him say goodnight, but she sneaks in a kiss on the cheek before she releases him. He's right. They'll have tomorrow, and she doesn't intend to let the opportunity slip through her fingers.


	8. Thursday

A/N: Hey, all! Here's a new chapter. Hope you enjoy it. As always, if you favorite, please leave a review letting me know exactly what you like about this story. :)

* * *

At 7:00 A.M., an envelope is slipped under the door of every hotel room. Most are ignored by sleeping occupants, but one Devon Woodcomb, awake and in the midst of his morning workout, halts his set of sit-ups and walks over to retrieve it. The envelope is heavy but not thick, black and embellished in gold. It's addressed to Dr. and Dr. Woodcomb. A grin lights his face as he opens it.

"A little short notice, don't you think, Premier?" he chuckles softly.

A tango or two would be just the thing to make this week perfect. Besides, he loves giving Ellie excuses to dress up. He pads into the kitchen for a morning protein shake, idly wondering if there's a tux-rental shop on the island.

* * *

"I have a bad feeling about this."

Morgana looks over at Merlin, perched precariously on the wobbling surfboard, and can't suppress a laugh. She had thought she'd had perfectly good sense this morning when she'd suggested the activity. They would hang out, just friends, and she would find comfort in his presence, his jokes, the way she was certain he'd never choose to leave her.

But now she wonders if she had really been thinking only about him in a wetsuit. He may be skinny, but it's a lean, sinewy sort of skinny. The suit clings nicely to his muscles, not overly big but clearly defined. His dark hair, full of water droplets, clings to his forehead, making him look incredibly young.

The board bobs in the water, throwing Merlin off balance. He rights himself and, still swaying unsteadily, shoots her a self-deprecating grin. No, maybe this wasn't the best idea. Still, there's something to be said for his bravery, and maybe his willingness to look like a fool every once in a while.

"So how did you learn this?" he asks. "And whatever made you think _I'd_ be good at it?"

She rolls her shoulders in a shrug. "I was a spoiled little thing, restless. I had to try everything, and one adventure was never enough. Arthur and I took lessons together."

"Oh," he frowns. After their talk last night, he's feeling more generous toward Arthur, but he has no interest in competing with the only man in her life she really trusts and cares for. Not for the first time today, he wishes she'd chosen an activity a bit more his style. Like maybe going to the library. They could be bookish together. She could write, and he could read. How exciting.

She splashes a handful of water at him. "Come on. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Oh, that, forgot to pack that, unfortunately."

Laughing, she takes his hand and gives it a tug. "Come on. One wave, and if you hate it, we'll stop."

He lifts an eyebrow. "One wave?"

"One wave," she promises with a sincere nod.

"Okay. I think I can survive one wave."

Smiling encouragingly at him, she paddles toward the shore, toward the breaking waves. She throws a glance over her shoulder to make sure he's following. But then a wave starts to break, and she's up and on her board before she think of what she's doing. It's just like riding a bike. The mechanics come back to her so easily. All she can focus on is the spray of the salt water against her face, the roar of the ocean in her ears. By the time the wave peters out, she's grinning. There's something about the rush and the open ocean and the company this morning that makes her feel free.

Thigh-deep in the water and holding her board to her with one arm, she swivels to search for him. He's still out past the wave line, shaking his head.

"Come on!" she calls. "It's fun! I promise!"

"I'm going to die!" he yells back.

"Not with me right here to rescue you!"

"I'm holding you to that!"

He paddles forward hesitantly, and even from close to the shore, she can see that his legs are shaking as he tries to stand. To his credit, he manages to stay standing for a good two or three seconds before the roiling wave sends him toppling.

"Merlin!" she cries, abandoning her surfboard to swim out to him.

The water carries his board in toward the shore, but Merlin hasn't resurfaced. She stops and looks around, calling out his name. She dives forward to swim farther out. Finally, he breaks through the surface off to her left, limbs flailing, chest heaving, sending a spray of ocean water everywhere.

"Merlin," she gasps out, lunging over to meet him. She slides an arm under his to buoy him. "Merlin, are you all right?"

He shakes the water out of his hair and swipes a hand over his eyes. "This is supposed to be fun?" he pants. "It's like, it's like going into battle knowing you're going to die."

"Are you always this dramatic?" she chuckles as she drags him toward the sand.

His weight feels comfortable against hers as they stagger together, supporting each other. Once they reach dry sand, they collapse into a breathless heap. She turns on her side, surprised to find him shaking with laughter.

"That was horrible," he says. "Why does anyone subject themselves to that?"

"You survived, though."

"Yeah, barely."

"You were very brave," she chuckles.

He props himself up on his elbows to look out toward the sea. "I think I lost your surfboard."

"Nah, it washed ashore right over there."

"Oh, good," he sighs, falling back against the sand and closing his eyes.

He makes no move to speak, and she takes the opportunity to study him quietly. Maybe it's the bangs plastered to his forehead or maybe it's the way everyone looks younger asleep, but she wonders how different her life would be if they had met as teenagers, or even a few years ago, before her heart had been too damaged to truly trust. It scares her, the way he makes her feel, the intensity of it.

She bites her lip as she looks down at him. How could a man like this ever hurt her? Innocent, generous, compassionate, he is _nothing_ like the men she's previously dated, and she can tell that from only a few days with him. She wishes she could just inject bravery into her heart, because who knows how far apart they'll be come Monday and she doesn't want to look back on her life only to realize how much time she wasted.

Swallowing thickly, she reaches over to smooth back his bangs. He doesn't stir, but a hint of a smile appears on his lips. She lies back on the sand, wondering if this is what it feels like, being so completely comfortable with another being that words aren't even necessary. He shifts to slide an arm around her. The move surprises her, but then the pounding of her heart calms, and she lets herself snuggle against him. Her head in the crook of his arm, she closes her eyes and lets herself relax.

Yes, this is what comfort feels like. This is something she could have spent her whole life searching for and never find in anyone else's arms. His thumb brushes across her shoulder, sending a shockwave through her. And yes, she decides, there are people worth being brave for.

* * *

Sarah groans. Sunlight streams in through the window, blinding her even with her eyes closed. She has no idea what time it is, but she knows it's much too early for anything resembling rational thought. Which is why she lets out another groan, longer and angrier this time, when a knock sounds at her door. She ignores it and rolls over, burying her face into the pillow. No one sensible could be knocking at this hour.

But then she hears him calling softly from the hallway, "Sarah? Sarah, are you there?" and she can't keep the smile from her lips.

Rousing herself, she gets out of bed, throws a robe on to cover herself a bit, and runs a hand through her hair. When she opens the door, Chuck is standing there with a crooked smile on his face, a brown paper bag in one hand, and a carrier with two takeout mugs in the other.

"Good morning," he says.

"Morning," she drawls sleepily.

"Slept well, then?" he chuckles.

"Could've been better," she grins as she lets him inside.

He ignores the implication and instead bends down to pick up an envelope on the floor that she hadn't noticed. "Oh, hey, you got one, too."

"One what?"

He hands it to her, and she opens it to find an invitation.

"The premier's throwing a big party. Ellie and Devon have already decided they're dragging me."

"At least they've warned you. So, what's in the bag?"

"Oh!" He holds the bag out to her. "I thought you could use some breakfast."

She lets out a soft sigh. She's really not used to men being nice to her just to be nice, and she pauses to think that one of the reasons she's so attracted to this man is because she knows absolutely he harbors no ulterior motives. He's just a guy who likes hanging out with a girl who's interested in him.

"Well, come on, then." She says, tilting her head toward the bedroom. When he starts stammering adorably, she takes him by the hand and pulls him out of the entryway and into the suite. "Come on. Breakfast in bed. Nothing more, I promise."

He perches on the edge of the mattress, looking anything but comfortable. She sits cross-legged, hoping he'll follow her example and get more comfortable, but all he does is hand her a cup of coffee, open the paper bag, and set it in between them. She peers inside.

"Croissants?" she gasps, her mouth already watering.

"Chocolate," he confirms with a chuckle.

"How'd you know?"

He shrugs. "You seemed like a croissant kind of girl."

"Is that right?" she smiles, taking a bite.

They share the breakfast quietly until she realizes just how nice this is, waking up to someone you care about, lounging comfortably, nothing pressing in the day's schedule. She eyes him, but he pretends not to notice as he picks a croissant into small pieces and eats it slowly. She wants to bring up last night, wants to know how he'll react to a discussion about _them_, a unit, instead of two people who were thrown together by fate. Chuck Bartowski, though, is definitely someone to take things slowly.

So she says, "You know, I don't think anyone's ever brought me breakfast before."

"Yeah, well, someone told me you needed more gentlemen in your life."

She regards him seriously. "Well, maybe just one more."

He clears his throat and shifts on the bed, and there's something about his uncertain expression that makes her brave, a kind of brave that she's unused to. Maybe they'll only have a few weeks together, maybe only a few days if he returns to California and leaves her to face the rest of her suspension alone. He's been the one bright spot in that, and didn't she promise herself to make the most of this?

"I like you, Chuck," she tells him softly. "A lot."

He swallows, looking for all the world as if he doesn't know what to do with this information. "Uh . . ." But then a smile comes to his face, and he says shyly, "Thank you. I…I really like you, too."

And Sarah grins, because having breakfast with a sweet, down-to-earth guy isn't something she ever thought she'd get to experience.

"So, what do you want to do today?" he asks.

The past couple days have shown her how fun exploring a new place really can be. She's used to holing up in hotel rooms and only emerging for missions. But there's something about being brought chocolate croissants for breakfast that makes her want to stay in and talk all morning like a normal couple could choose to do.

So she says, "I don't know. What do you think about just staying in?"

She doesn't get much opposition from the man who views the sun as his worst enemy. "Really? Okay. We can watch a movie. Play video games. Devon has a pack of cards."

"Hmm, breakfast and a movie?"

He grins. "Sounds good to me."

He reaches for the remote lying on the bedside table and turns on the television. Sitting back, he flips through the guide and rattles off movie titles as he goes. "_First Knight, The Mist, Aladdin, Gangs of New York, Shall We Dance?, Charlie St. Cloud, The Green Mile, Hellboy II, The Princess Bride_. Ooh, _The Princess Bride_. Can't beat that." He turns to her. "What do you think? Up for it?"

Her blank looks gives her away.

"What? Don't tell me you've never seen _The Princess Bride_!" he says incredulously, and she has to shake her head in embarrassment. Pop culture isn't of much import in her line of work, and she hasn't kept up with it since high school. She'd be hard-pressed to even name a movie released this decade, and she definitely hasn't seen one. Carina, Zondra, and Amy are club-goers, not movie-goers, but every once in a blue moon, she and Zondra will stay in for the night, rent an old screwball comedy, and share a couple bottles of wine.

"Is it new?" she asks, which earns her a full ten seconds of speechlessness.

"What kind of childhood did you have," he stammers, oblivious to the truth, "that no one ever showed you this movie?" He smacks his knee. "All right, that's it. We're watching it. We've only missed a few minutes. I'll catch you up on the commercial."

And suddenly, as they settle in beside each other, each grabbing a fresh croissant, she can see it. She can see what normalcy could mean again and how it could be within her grasp if she would only stick out her hands to reach for it.

And, for the first time in a long time, her heart aches.

* * *

Morgana watches, beaming proudly, as Arthur accepts an oversized pair of scissors from one of the premier's aides in front of Costa Gravas's brand new football stadium. The premier himself stands beside him, primed to shake his hand for the photo op, and they're both surrounded by a gaggle of school-aged children. She claps as enthusiastically as the rest of the crowd when the red ribbon falls to the ground in two pieces. A hundred camera bulbs go off in quick succession, blinding her even from where she's standing. She'd forgotten how much she hates this side of his life. Not the good things he does, but all the attention. He's always liked it, though, always thrived in the spotlight, which is why she's surprised to see his smile falter, an infinitesimal slip, just enough for her to see it in his eyes.

So later, after they've watched the children and the players of Costa Gravas's first real football team chase each other and kick a ball around the field for the first time, she takes him out for lunch. Food in his stomach generally loosens his lips.

"You looked like you had fun today," she begins before taking a bite of her salad.

"Well," he shrugs, " it's easy when there are kids there."

She chuckles. "I've always told you that you're like an oversized child." Her smile dies when she sees his face, less mirthful than normal. She asks, "Everything okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" he shoots back before taking a long slug of ice water.

"You look . . . pensive. It's not something I'm used to."

"A man can grow up, can't he?"

If she were closer, she'd elbow him in that annoying way that only siblings who like each other can. She has a suspicion that a certain dark-eyed beauty is behind this sudden transformation, but she has no idea why he seems so out-of-sorts. "Arthur, you know you can tell me anything."

He shifts in his chair, then, after a moment of scowling pensively, he says, "It's just, things like that used to be my world. I loved the flashing cameras and the newspaper photos and the people asking for autographs."

"And you no longer do?"

"I think . . ." he begins hesitantly, "I think I'm starting to realize that there are more important things out there than scoring the most goals or making a bunch of money that I have no clue how to spend."

A smile tugs at her lips. Maybe her prat of a brother is finally growing up. Then again, maybe she is, as well. "Well, they do say the best love brings out the best in us."

"I've known her for five days. I shouldn't be this unsatisfied with the way I lived. She doesn't get to make me want more, not this quickly."

"Maybe you've been unsatisfied for a while now, and only she's been able to open your eyes to it."

"Is that what Merlin does, make you want more out of life?"

She hesitates, resisting the urge to bite her lip. Her throat suddenly dry, she downs half her water glass before answering, "I think, if he didn't, I wouldn't . . ."

"Be so afraid?" he prompts, rather gently, she thinks. He suddenly lets out a laugh. "Did our childhood screw us up or is emotional stuntedness just in our genes?"

She takes a deep breath. This week is making her realize that loves takes courage, perhaps more courage than she possesses. Tentatively, she suggests, "We could give it a try, you know."

"What, baring our souls and trusting other people to not damage them beyond repair?"

"Yeah. That." She idly twirls her soup spoon. "Isn't that what relationships are about? Faith?"

He murmurs musingly. "Besides, if they don't work out, we can always be old singletons together."

* * *

"Go fish," she says, smirking slightly as he picks up a card from the scattered fishbowl in between them. "I don't know. It was all right, but . . . a bit too sappy for me."

He fixes her with a look. "Are you kidding me right now? You have to be kidding me. Sarah, it's _The Princess Bride_." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Thankfully, he explains, gesticulating wildly, "It's all about true love conquering all."

"But it doesn't really, does it? Not in real life."

He sobers quickly, inhaling and exhaling deeply. "Is that what this is all about?"

She looks up sharply. "What?"

Frowning, he waves a hand and says, "This whole vacation alone and all that talk about not knowing any gentlemen?" She doesn't reply but makes a show of studying the cards in her hand as intensely as if this were a high-stakes poker game. He clears his throat and adds, "Because, I mean, you shouldn't . . . not believe there are Westleys out there just because you had a bad experience with a Prince Humperdink."

She lets out a sigh. Of course he would believe in true love, but she'd spent her whole life believing that was only a fairytale. "He wasn't just any old Humperdink," she says quietly. "In fact, the prince looks mighty harmless next to him. Got any threes?"

"No. Go fish." He's quiet as he watches her pick up a card from the fishbowl. "You want to tell me about him?"

"There's not a lot to tell," she says, giving a half-hearted shrug.

"Still, sometimes it's good to get things off your chest." Seeing the misgiving in her eyes, he adds quickly, "Maybe not every detail, but . . ." but trails off, his face reddening slightly.

She sighs, unaccustomed to having such serious conversations that even approach honesty. But it's Chuck, and she can trust him. Can't she?

"Any queens?" he asks.

Fighting a smile, she hands the queen of hearts over to him. He studies his cards, and she takes the opportunity to study him. He's shy, certainly, but she can see that he's making an effort to move outside of himself and speak his mind. She can appreciate that, especially knowing exactly how hard it is to step beyond one's comfort zone.

"We worked together," she finally tells him. "Our job . . . was pretty important." She pauses, licks her lips, takes a deep breath. "He betrayed a lot more people than just me."

Chuck regards her silently. He can't understand, not when she gives him so little, but there's no pity in his gaze, only empathy. He looks down. "Well," he begins quietly, "I think I know a little bit about betrayal."

She keeps the surprise from her face. "An ex-girlfriend?"

"Uh, that's part of it."

"Only part?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Mr. Bartowski, I guess we both come with a lot of baggage, don't we?"

He chuckles. "I suppose we do."

She used to think that meant she'd be alone the rest of her life, a wanderer through a world populated by people who grew too attached. Maybe that's not what it means at all. Maybe it just means she'll have to work a little harder, risk a little more, fight a little tougher. But all of a sudden, it doesn't seem so impossible, not with a guy like Chuck to stand by her side.

* * *

"Be careful. It looks like rain," Arthur cautions as she breezes out of the main room and toward the door.

"I'll be fine. Promise!" Morgana calls back, dashing into the hallway.

She makes it down to the beach in a matter of moments, glad she had the sense to don a hoodie before emerging into the cool evening air. Walking toward the ocean, she looks up at the sky, suppresses a shiver. Arthur may be right. It _does_ look like rain. But after their conversation this afternoon, she's not prepared to let a little thing like precipitation stand in her way.

She spots him when she's still a good ways away. In jeans and a sensible sweater, he stands with his back to her, looking out at the sea. The moonlight illuminates his form, a beacon drawing her near.

"Hi," she says breathlessly as she sidles up beside him.

Merlin turns to her, his face breaking out into a wide grin. "Hi. So, which way would you like to go?"

He gestures right and left. To one direction, past the resort, lie more lighted buildings, restaurants and shops open late to take advantage of the tourist influx. She can even see the late diners who have chosen tables on the rear balconies, eating their meal beneath the stars. To the other, it's all tide and rocks bathed in shadows. In a surprising show of boldness, she takes him by the hand and leads him away from the bright lights and big crowds.

"Interesting choice," he remarks with a chuckle. "Should I be worried for my honor?" She pulls a face, and his chuckle turns into a full-bodied laugh. "So, a good day with your brother?"

The sand is squishy beneath her feet, but she's got a good grip on him, and they walk as a solid unit. "Uh, yeah," she nods. "It's good to see him out and about. I hate when he gets sullen. Coming here has somehow made him happier and more discontent at the same time."

"You don't think that has anything to do with Gwen, do you?"

She smiles. "I think it has a lot to do with her."

"She seems happier, too," he offers. Giving her hand a squeeze, he adds, "I haven't been this happy in a long time. Guess it must be something about this place."

"Must be," she agrees, feeling a blush come to her cheeks as she looks down at her feet. A few more moments pass in silence before she asks, "How is Gwen? I feel bad that I've taken you away so much this week. I'm glad you got to spend today together."

"No, don't feel bad. There's one thing you have to know about Gwen, and that's that she can't stand to see anyone sad, especially me."

"And that means . . . ?"

"That means that she's fixed me up on blind dates since we were fifteen, and she gets worried when I spend my Saturday nights alone, which is most of the time. So believe me, she is not upset that I've finally found someone to spend time with, especially since she's seen firsthand just how lovely you are."

"Oh, thank you."

"Does your brother mind? That I've kept you away?"

She shakes her head. "Not so much. Despite being a big, popular football star, I'm still the person he hangs out with most. I'm sure he'd rather be spending time with her than with his sister."

"Well, then, we all win, don't we?"

She takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. "Yeah, I guess we do."

Despite the chill in the air, his body radiates heat, and his hand in hers sends a surge of warmth through her.

"What you said at dinner on Monday . . ." she begins quietly. "Do you really like my books that much?"

"Are you kidding me?" he says with an incredulous laugh. "I couldn't believe my luck when I found out it was you. It'd help if you'd have pictures on your book jackets, you know."

"Yeah, well, with a family like mine, the less attention I can draw to myself, the better."

"Well, I meant every word that night." He sighs. "I . . . This may come as a surprise to you, but I've always been kind of a loner. When I read your writing, the first time and every time since, I feel . . . connected, not so alone. So, yeah, every word."

Her heart fluttering, she lifts their linked hands and presses her lips to the back of his. "My mother used to read me fairytales when I was young. I could never get them out of my head. I thought every tree was an enemy knight and every mouse was a servant in disguise. So when I started 'growing up,' I decided I didn't have to let them go. I was terrified of becoming just like everybody else, with no imagination to help me through it all."

"I've always admired people who go after their dreams."

She looks at him curiously. "And you're not one of those people?"

"Well," he shrugs, "I went into the poetry of love to figure it out, not because of some deep, overwhelming sense of destiny."

"And?"

"And what?"

She gives him a soft bump in the shoulder. "Have you figured it out?"

He pauses, lips tight. Then he sighs and says, "Not from poetry. Listen to this: To what end should I love and sorrow thus?/How should I, fish out of water, endure?/What is Cressid worth without Troilus?/How should a plant or living creature/live without its kind's nurture?/to which a frequent proverb here I say,/that "rootless: green things must fall away."

"That's beautiful."

"It is, truly. But for a long time, I never understood it, how you could feel something for another person that could consume you."

She pulls him to a gentle stop and turns to face him. "And now?" she asks softly.

"Now," he sighs, lips twisted contemplatively, "now I understand that it's not all-consuming in the sense that it leaves you broken. It's all-consuming because it forces you to become the best version of yourself. It builds you up, fills up your soul."

Morgana has to force a deep gulp of air into her lungs. For all her writing skills, such simplistic eloquence leaves her tongue-tied.

"That's beautiful, too," she finally says.

He smiles, but it fades when a rumble of thunder sounds overhead. They both look up then back to the hotel, and Morgana suddenly realizes how far they've managed to come. When she looks back at him, he's got a deer-in-the-headlights look in his bright blue eyes.

She frowns. "Shoot. Arthur said it might rain."

"Why didn't you listen?" he asks, incredulous.

"Because he's never right!" she laughs, raising her voice over another thunder crash.

But when she looks at him, he's laughing, too. They lock gazes for a brief moment and somehow take off running at the exact same second. She outstrips him after only a few steps, but then she half-turns to reach out for his hand, he grabs it, and they sprint along the shore, connected once more. The raindrops start before they're halfway back to the resort, but, huddled together, they manage to make it under the safety of an overhang at the far end of the building.

They collapse against a massive stone pillar, and Morgana can't ignore the way Merlin's arm is wrapped around her waist. His eyes are dancing, the rain shining in his hair, and her heart is beating wildly, from the exertion, certainly, but also from his proximity. The laughter dies on her lips as she stares into his deep blue eyes. Despite the repetition of _don't lose your heart_ pulsing through her head, it takes every ounce of willpower to keep from falling into those eyes, because the truth is that she already has. Her heart is gone, all his, has been since he said hello just three nights ago.

"Uh . . ." he says, his voice barely audible above the storm, and licks his lips.

He takes his hand from her waist and drops his gaze, his body tense, like every muscle is rebelling against his decision to _not_ kiss her. This game they're playing is foolish. She may be scared, but she doesn't want to become the girl who never gains because she never risks. He makes her want more, makes her want to be braver than she is, and she wants to show him that new-found courage.

Though her heart feels like it's about to burst right out of her chest, she slides a hand to his cheek, leans forward, and presses her lips softly to his. He seems startled at first, but he soon relaxes into her embrace, and she can feel the dampness soaking into her back from his sweater sleeves. He tastes like wine and peppermint. His embrace lights a fire in her blood, spreading warmth throughout her body, like coming home to a hot bath and a warm bed after a long, exhausting day. All trace of doubt dissolves from her mind, and all she can concentrate on is the gentle pressure of his lips against hers.

Her mind is still whirling when she finally pulls away from him. Eyes still closed, she rests her forehead against his, wills her heartbeat to slow its intense beat. Neither of them says a word. He strokes her hair, and she listens to the lashing of the rain and the rumble of the thunder and the steadiness of his labored breath.

Finally, he chuckles softly in her ear and asks, "Do you want to go to the gala with me tomorrow night?"

Her smile growing, she threads her fingers into his hair and murmurs, "Yes. Yes, I do, Merlin."


End file.
